


Inevitability

by paralyticdreamer



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Emotional Abuse, Existential Crisis, Friends to Lovers, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Memory Loss, Mental Health Issues, Mild Sexual Content, Suicide Attempt, dan immediately has a massive crush on phil lol, dan is popular and phil isn’t, he’s also quite sarcastic and pessimistic, it basically takes place in dan’s head, kind of a slow-burn, mental illness portrayal, parents showing favoritism, talks about death & inevitability, this is technically the most depressing and darkest fanfic i’ve written so far
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2020-07-19 18:24:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19978516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paralyticdreamer/pseuds/paralyticdreamer
Summary: If you’re looking for advice on how to have a perfect life, Dan Howell probably isn’t the person to ask.





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this was originally going to go on wattpad, but since people Love ao3 so much, I’ve decided to put it here. i hope you enjoy it and i will try to come up with a reasonable number of chapters.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An introduction. Gives insight on Dan’s life. Dan’s infatuation with a mysterious boy who has black hair.

Inevitability. What _is_ inevitability? The definition of inevitability is ‘the quality of being certain to happen’.

There are many things that are inevitable—death, for instance. And the common cold. Sex is inevitable, whether it be consensual or non-consensual—or rape, for lack of a better word.

Love. _Love_ is inevitable. There are various types of love: falling in love, a motherly-type of love, the love two friends feel towards one another and the type of love you feel towards a pet. Falling in love, of course, is the most inevitable.

You could fall in love with a boy, girl or someone who identifies as neither. There’re people like your best friend, and people you’ve only met maybe once or twice. The point is that it’s bound to happen, whether you like it or not.

But what’s the point in love when we’re all going to die anyway? _You_ may not die right away, but if possible, I plan on dying quite soon. It’s just a matter of time, and how I plan on doing it is also a concern.

Sat in the middle of English class I assume and staring down at the piece of paper on the desk in front of me, I listen to the awful droning of the woman who’s teaching. Her voice bores me almost to death. Ideal, but now’s not the time or place to think of death. Instead, let’s focus on the one cute boy in this entire class.

Well, I’m not _entirely_ confident on his level of attractiveness, but the back of his head seems promising. He’s got black hair that I can obviously tell is dyed by the roots I can spot. Hopefully he doesn’t catch me staring, or anyone for that matter. I have a reputation to uphold—one that unfortunately does not involve staring at boys who are seemingly really cute and–

Damn it, there goes literally my entire existence. And me re-coming out in my head. Hey, not like it matters. I’ve already come out to literally every single person I’ve come in contact with.

No, literally; I’m out to the entire school, my parents and even the guy who runs the bakery not far from my house.

I wonder what black-haired boy’s sexuality is. He’s gotta at _least_ be bisexual or something. Nobody’s that cute and straight at the same time. Maybe I should ask him.

No, no. Never mind. Just randomly walking up to him with no warning is creepy and borderline stalker-ish.

I yawn just as the last bell rings and stand up, then watch him as he turns to leave and wow… he’s more than cute.

Shut up, Dan.

I walk out of the room and trail close behind him, only for one of my friends—Shane—to pull me aside. “Listen, I get that you’re gay, but following random people around that you find attractive is _kinda_ creepy Dan,” he says and I scoff.

”I wasn’t following him around, Shane. It was actually the complete opposite. I was…”

Damn, how do I lie?

”I was just walking to the uh… the bathroom,” I continue, pointing down the corridor at the boys’ toilets. As my eyes scan the busy corridor, I spot the head of black hair which is attached to the boy I’ve grown fond of.

Shane lets me go and I make my way down the corridor to the boy. However, he’s gone before I can introduce myself, so I end up going straight into the bathroom.

”Damnit,” I hiss into the mirror, “why couldn’t I’ve listened to Shane? Maybe he _is_ a waste of time.”

My hands are resting on the sink as I continue to stare into the mirror. I sigh and run my hands through my hair before taking some water and splashing it on my face. I watch as the water droplets cover my face, drip from my nose and soak into my hairline.

This is what I’d consider a stressful situation, you know? And yeah, I’m talking to myself—or rather, thinking all of this stuff—like an idiot and I’m the one causing the stressful situation, but can you blame me? I’ve encountered possibly the most attractive person I’ve ever seen and my friends expect me to ignore it.

I can’t ignore it; ignoring this would make it go away. I need to talk to him. Get to know him before I combust.

I’ve no idea how to do that, however. He didn’t _look_ like he had very many friends and if he had any, there were few of them. But why would someone as attractive as he was have few friends? Maybe he’s one of those people who prefer quality over quantity.

I, however, have no choice. Mum prefers quantity over quality when it regards me. But oh no, if her precious Adrian has friends he hates. She’d rather me have loads of friends so that I’m out of the house. If Adrian were to come by a few more friends to add to his small group, Mum would be all like, ‘oh, can I meet them? You know that I have to in order to keep you safe’.

Not me, however. She could care less whether or not I’m safe. I could befriend a fuckin’ murderer and she wouldn’t even go as far as to bat an eye over it. It’s just the person she is, so I’m surprised whenever she gives her daily speech on mental health. It’s mostly geared towards Adrian, because if he were to have mental health issues, it would become _World War 3_. Not me, though. Not me.

I could easily walk around with short-sleeves, self-inflicted wounds dripping blood, and again: she wouldn’t care. My dad’s not around enough to care and even when he is, it’s always Adrian _this_ and Adrian _that._

Never Dan. Never anything about me, or anything about my mental health; which, by the way, is slowly going downhill.

—

I arrive home to an empty house as usual and lie down on the sofa. This is a normal occurrence. Adrian has Football, Mum has her job. Unlike other times, Dad is on a trip overseas in America. He promised to bring something back for Adrian, but when I asked, he was like, ‘I probably won’t have any money after that, kid’. Then he ruffled my hair and left for the airport. Of course, Mum and Adrian tagged along. Why wouldn’t they? They’re like the perfect family—one I doubt I’ll ever be a part of.

But it’s fine, really. It’s not like I’m alone. I have my friends, and hopefully the boy with the black hair.

Keep dreaming, Dan. I smile at the thought; maybe I will. Dreams come true normally… if you happen to be in a fucking Disney movie.

I have to remind myself that this isn’t a movie—that it’s real life, and things have to be taken slowly.

I know what I could do.

I smile.

I’ll start with his name.


	2. ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan figures out the mystery boy’s name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter took longer than intended to write and i apologize. it wasn’t meant to take an entire week but it did ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

* * *

Death, to some, is scary. To others, it’s a wonderful thing. Leaving a shitty world and finally being happy.

People find a certain method of dying more… I don’t know, _painful_ than others, due to its nature. They may also despise it, because sometimes, they’re the cause of it happening.

I’m obviously referring to suicide, which is something that has been on my mind for quite some time. I don’t know _exactly_ when I started thinking about death, but it just sorta… happened. It wasn’t just like, ‘I suddenly want to die’. It was more of a, you know, _slow-burn_ decision I guess.

My life is shitty, if you can’t tell. My parents _clearly_ prefer my brother to me and I don’t understand why. Why would they do this? Why do they hate me so much? What did I do to them to make them resort to favoritism? It makes absolutely _no_ sense, thus the reason I’d like to kill myself. At least they’d no longer have to play favorites. There’d be only one child of theirs left. I bet they’d be rather overjoyed following my death.

Maths class is when I see the boy again. I’ve only seen him once in my entire life, so I’m just gonna assume that he’s new. Either that, or I’ve never actually paid attention to my surroundings in school. Probably the latter. Still, that’s _two_ classes I share with him so far.

He’s wearing glasses today, and they hide incredible blue eyes—but they’re not just blue. They’re blue and green and yellow at the same time, which is nice. I think he woke up late, which is why his hair’s also messy. You know, I don’t _usually_ find guys with quiffs attractive, but he’s an exception.

Damn, now Paramore is stuck in my head and I’m finding myself humming _The Only Exception_.

He looks over at me and I swear that for the second our eyes meet, my heart skips a beat. Or something like that. He smiles at me, and wow—why the fuck is he so goddamn attractive? Wait… why is he smiling at me? Me, Daniel James Howell, possibly the ugliest person at this entire school compared to him. I don’t even know his name.

He looks away and I feel my face start to heat up. Damn, I’m so gay and I’m attracted to someone who’s only just interacted with me not even five minutes ago. Why? Why why why why why. I feel genuinely upset at this. I doubt we’ll have another interaction ever again in my entire life.

After class I’m stood at my locked when Pj Liguori and Chris Kendall walk up to me. We’re not technically friends, but we aren’t acquaintances either. We’re kind of in-between friends.

”Why aren’t you guys saying anything? I’m a sad and confused gay and you’re wasting precious free period time,” I tell them. I can see them trying to hide smirks. Why are they hiding smirks?

”Stop doing whatever it is you’re doing and speak. Don’t forget that I know something about you two—and might I remind you that you’d rather _not_ let it get out so soon, yeah?” I say and Pj’s eyes widen. “Nope. Anyways, Dan… Chris and I have noticed you acting weird around a certain person we’ve all literally known our entire lives,” he says and I gasp inaudibly.

If I know him, then why don’t I know his goddamn name? Maybe I’m being pranked. Yes, that’s it.

”I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Chris scoffs. “C’mon, Dan, be serious for once,” he says and I shrug. “What if… I _am_ being serious?” I suggest. This time, Pj scoffs. “Have you contracted amnesia or something?” he asks and I shrug. “Not… that I’m entirely aware of,” I say and walk into the bathroom. “Now if you’ll _excuse_ me, I have to piss. So kindly go away.”

I step into a stall and wait until the two of them leave before exiting it and returning to my favorite spot (aka the mirror). No, I’m not self-centred. Actually, it’s quite the opposite situation. If I can see my face, it’ll help me think. I’m somewhat of a ‘visual thinker’. This means that I like to see my facial expressions as I sort through my thoughts.

So… the boy with whom I’ve become fascinated with. What _is_ his name? The fact that I don’t know is genuinely bothering me.

I could try to guess his name.

Alex? No, doesn’t fit his hair. George? No. His name is _definitely_ not George. Why would his parents torture him with a name like George? Ew.

Kyle? I like the way it sounds, but it doesn’t fit his face or his pretty blue eyes.

God _damnit_ , why am I like this? I can’t just be normal, can I? I’ve to be gay and annoying.

I sigh. Someone should stop me from being annoying as soon as possible.

Now it’s lunch time and as always, I’m sat between Shane and Jake. Jake is one of my best friends and understands my attraction to the mystery boy. He says he’d help me but he doesn’t even know the boy’s name, which sucks.

”Shane,” Jake says, “Dan’s not been _this_ interested in anyone since that boy in Year 8.”

I know who he’s talking about. His name was Jesse and he moved to France. He had curly brown hair and nice brown eyes. I was devastated because it’d seemed like he was interested as well.

”Jesse,” I murmur and another boy nods. His name’s Elliot and he was also attracted to Jesse—but not at the same time as me though. It’s only been four years but I think I’m finally getting over it.

”I’m not gay, but I think the boy Dan’s infatuated with is quite attractive,” Jake says.

”I think his name’s something-Lester,” Louise, another one of my friends, points out. “The only Lester I know of is Martyn, but he graduated a few years ago. Dan, why are you attracted to Martyn?” Elliot asks and I shake my head. “No, it’s not Martyn. I know what Martyn looks like. I think this is like his cousin or something,” I state, taking a bite of my salad.

”No, it’s his brother,” Louise says.

Wait, so I’m attracted to Martyn Lester’s brother? Wow… cool.

Lunch is over and now, it’s last period. I can see him again. His shirt is blue and the sleeves are pulled up to his elbows.

The teacher is doing attendance and various people are putting their hands up and calling out as their last name is called.

”Howell?”

I put my hand up slightly. “Present,” I say and she continues on to the next few students before, “Lester?”

The boy’s hand goes up and I can hear him let out a mumbled response. He’s either tired, or really bored.

More names are called out and then it’s time for class to actually begin.

”Now, as it’s your last year of school ever, unless you decide to go to University, the school has decided that you’re required to get to know your peers. So for the remainder of the quarter and essentially the remainder of the school year, you’ll be paired up with someone you’d normally not speak to or hang out with,” the teacher begins and nearly everyone in the room groans in despair. I, however, don’t, simply because I could possibly get paired with _him_ , which would be nice.

”When I call your name, come up and take a piece of paper from the bucket. Don’t worry if your name isn’t called—it just means that your name is in the bucket. Also, if you don’t know who’s who, let me know and I’ll point you in their direction. Now, let us begin. Daniel Howell, would you come up here and start us off?”

I can feel my face getting warmer as all eyes are on me, even his eyes. I stand up, still feeling embarrassed, and make my way up to the front.

This is embarrassing, and I don’t want to be here, but I’m holding up the entire class by not picking a piece of paper out of the stupid bucket.

”We don’t have all day, Mr Howell,” the teacher states and I groan. “I’m aware,” I mumble and snatch a folded up piece of paper from the bucket before returning to my seat.

I hum a small tune as I unfold the tiny scrap of paper then let my eyes scan the name.

_Phil Lester._

My eyes immediately fall over to him. He’s trying to be discreet but I can see the glow of his phone. An iPhone?

As soon as everyone’s back in their seats, the teacher clears her throat. She obviously has a name, but I’ve not bothered with remembering it. “Now that everyone has a name, let’s begin with what I _actually_ have planned for today. You’ll have five minutes at the end to introduce yourself to your partner and I hate to say it, but you’ll have to interact with one another outside of this room.”

More groaning then class begins.

I can’t help but wonder what his personality is like. I still can’t believe that I finally know his name and that I’ll get to talk to him.

Phil Lester. You know, it suits him.

When it’s time for people to interact with one another, it becomes a mess of teenagers struggling to find one another. I hesitantly stand up and sit in the desk in front of my own.

He looks at me and I smile. “Uh, hi. I er… y-your name was on the piece of paper I picked from the bucket. I-I’m Dan,” I tell him and he gives me a soft smile. “I’m Phil, but I guess you already knew that,” he says and I nod.

Wow, why is this so awkward?

”So, uh, I guess we have to hang out or something,” I say and he nods, putting his phone on the desk. “It’d probably be easier if we had each other’s phone numbers,” he suggests and I nod, unlocking my own phone and making it so he can add his number.

I add mine into his phone and give it back to him. He does the same with mine and I shove it back into my pocket.

”Well Dan, looks like we’ll be talking a lot more,” Phil says. “Yeah, guess so,” I say as the bell rings.

We both stand up and walk out of the room, then I make my way to the bathroom. The bathroom is definitely my safe haven away from my feelings and the people I consider my friends.

”Holy shit,” I breathe and walk into a stall, then sit on the floor. My back is to the door and my knees are pulled to my chest. “Holy shit holy shit holy shit.”

It soon becomes repetitive as I run my fingers through my hair. This—figuring out his name and talking to him—feels like progress. I like progress and the things that come with it.

I exhale and stand up and leave the stall, then exit the bathroom entirely.

As soon as Shane routinely makes his way over to me, I’m left with a massive grin stretching across my face and making my cheeks hurt.

”What’re you so happy for?” he asks and I continue to grin. “Phil Lester. That’s his name,” I explain and he gives me a confused look before the confusion turns to understanding. “ _Oh_. When’d you figure that out?”

”You know that thing in English that everyone has to do?” I ask. “The whole ‘get to know someone you’d normally not talk to’ thing? Yeah, I know about it,” Shane says and I nod. “Well, he’s in my English class and I was paired up with him. I drew his name from a bucket,” I explain and Shane nods before handing me a bag.

”You’re going to need it, Dan. By the way, don’t open it until you get home.”

He leaves and I head towards the doors that will lead me outside.

Elliot always gives me a ride home for various reasons. One, I don’t have a car because my parents hate me. Two, I live at least thirty minutes away by car and my mum refuses to drive me. And three, I really would rather I _didn’t_ walk.

Elliot is waiting for me beside his car and looks up from his phone once I snap my fingers. “Oh, I didn’t see you coming,” he says, laughing, and unlocks his car. I think it’s a Honda, but since I don’t pay attention to car brands, I’m not sure.

”His name’s Phil Lester,” I tell him once I have my seatbelt on. “I only know this because we’re paired together for that thing.”

Elliot nods and pulls out of the lot behind a blue car. “I even have his number,” I say and I see his eyes get wider. “Really?” he asks and I nod. “Yeah. He’s got mine as well. It was his idea,” I explain, unlocking my phone and showing him the contact.

”Damn,” he says, “second base already.” I glare at him. “That’s not what second base means, you know,” I state and he laughs. “Yeah, I actually did. I just wanted to mess with ya,” he says. “Not funny. I didn’t laugh,” I tell him.

The rest of the drive is spent with minimal conversation and soon enough, I’m in my bedroom and lying on my bed whilst staring at the contact on my phone.

Phil Lester. Yep, it definitely suits him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeh, it’s finished :) and i figured out how to make it like a fic rather than a one off.
> 
> lemme know what you think of this so far and i might reply? idk


	3. iii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan comes to terms with his feelings. Chaos somewhat ensues, leaving him a mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You’ll learn to hate Dan’s mum very soon because of how she acts and what she says. No offense to his mum in real life :)
> 
> (p.s. Phil’s gonna be in nearly every chapter from now on)

Love. What does love mean? If you Google the definition of love, you’re met with something along the lines of ‘an intense feeling of deep affection’, ‘a great interest and pleasure in something’ and ‘feel a deep romantic or sexual attachment to (someone)’. What I feel towards Phil Lester is _not_ love, but rather a simple crush I believe. There’s really no other explanation for it because I have to actually know more about him to compare my feelings to love.

A crush, by definition, is a brief but intense infatuation for someone, especially someone unattainable or inappropriate. A crush on Phil Lester wouldn’t be inappropriate, but Phil is someone I cannot have. He’s out of my reach. We’re not friends, and we’ve only spoken once, but I feel… I don’t know. I honestly have no idea _what_ or _how_ I feel if I’m being honest. I would definitely love to know.

I can hear my mum calling me downstairs. Or is she calling Adrian down? I don’t know anymore when it regards my family and how they treat me.

”Daniel!”

Oh, she’s calling me.

”Be down in a second,” I yell back, although it sounds like I’m mumbling. I may as well’ve been because she yells back expecting an answer.

”I _said_ that I’ll be down in a second!” I yell back, my voice cracking like I’ve only just started puberty. I’m seventeen, therefore I haven’t.

I get out of bed and make my way downstairs. “Mum?” I call out. “Kitchen!” comes her sweet, yet terrifying voice and I walk to where she says she’s at.

I find my mum standing at the stove, her orange apron wrapped around her waist and a wooden spoon in her right hand. Apart from me, my entire family is right-handed, meaning that I’m once again a mistake.

”What’d you want?” I ask her and immediately regret it as she turns to face me with a look of disappointment on her face. “Why are you the way that you are?” she asks me. I tilt my head to the side in confusion. I must look like a dog to her.

”What?” I ask, not quite sure if I’d heard her correctly. She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “You’re a gay, right?”

I nod. “Yeah– what about it?” I question and my mum laughs… like it’s a joke. “Why?” she asks and I shrug. “Dunno,” I tell her, which earns me a slap across the face. My eyes widen, leaving me to wonder why she did it. My hand reaches up to touch the side of my face and I feel warmth.

”You were a mistake. Did you know that? I didn’t want you, so your father wore a condom. But guess what? It broke. I wanted to get an abortion, but my mother—may she rest in peace—talked me out of it. What I wouldn’t give to go back all those years ago and prevent you from existing,” my mum says with a smile.

God, I hate her. I hate her I hate her I hate her. No amount of someone talking me out of it will make me not hate her. She disgusts me and makes me want to kill myself more than I already do. Yeah, mum, I wish I wasn’t born either. Do you see me saying that to my child—which I don’t have? No, because I’m a good person and would never tell someone that.

I return to my room, my hand still resting on my face, and open my laptop. I got it from one of my friends as a Christmas present. I believe it was Elliot, but I’m not sure.

If I hadn’t’ve ‘gained’ the amount of popularity-slash-friends I had, I would most likely be dead due to my treatment at home. Feeling completely alone and abandoned would only make everything ten times more worse than it already is.

The Facebook Messenger icon has the number five attached to it so I click on it. Apart from the group chat and other messages from my friends, there’s nothing else. I choose not to answer the messages and instead scroll through Twitter.

I have a bit of a large following and I’ve no idea why. It’s not like I follow many people; but for some strange reason, my follower count surpasses sixty-five thousand.

’ _gotta love that good ole homophobia_ ’ I tweet out and the replies, likes and retweets pour in. Most of the replies are people saying how relatable the tweet is with GIFs and reaction photos.

I switch back over to my Facebook messages then click on the group chat, asking if anyone wants to hang out. You know, to save me from the Hell that is my house. 

_soz dan got plans_

_maybe l8r i have work_

_busy about to get laid_

_mum and i are going out for a bit of selfcare sorry_

After sighing for the billionth time, I type an apology into the chat and shove my laptop under my bed. Guess I’ll have to go out by myself.

After dressing in my usual all-black clothing, I leave the house and start walking. I’ve no idea where I’m actually going, but I don’t care. Who needs direction when you’re just winging everything in your life until it ends. And I hope mine ends quite soon if I’m being honest.

I wonder what Phil’s doing. Shit, I could have asked him to hang out. It would’ve been a great opportunity for us to get to know each other and become friends.

I reach for my phone but to my disappointment, it’s not in my pocket. Unfortunately, this means that I’ll have to go back home but it’s luckily not that far of a walk since I only walked down the road.

My plan for today is simple: see if Phil can-slash-wants to hang out and if he does, hang out with him until whenever. After that, stay away from my house until my mum is asleep. Then sneak in and go to sleep or whatever.

When I walk inside, I can hear my mum humming to herself. I can smell cookies baking—most likely chocolate chip; those are her favorites—and along with humming, I can hear my brother’s music playing. Probably some weird classical piece since he’s into that type of stuff now.

I know for a fact that my mum’s cookies will go to waste because Adrian’s vegan and mum hates me.

As I grab my phone, there’s a knock on my open door. I turn to see my brother standing there, a half-empty bottle of water in his right hand.

”Are you okay?” he asks, a worried tone present in his inquiry. “Yeah. Why?” I question, shoving my phone into my pocket.

”I heard what mum said to you,” he says and my face goes red. My eyes sting as I attempt to hold tears back. “What, that? That’s no big deal. I’m used to it,” I tell him and shove past him as I exit my room.

”You shouldn’t be used to it, Dan. Parents aren’t supposed to do that,” he calls after me and I stop walking. He’s right; I can easily admit that to myself, but no matter what, my mum won’t change the way she treats me.

I turn to face him. “You’re lucky, you know. Mum and dad love you. I wish someone would give me even a small amount of the love they show you,” I say and he smiles. “Someone will, trust me. They’ll love you so much more than that.”

I wish I could believe him, but I just can’t. I can’t believe that someone will love me as much as my parents should, and it’s devastating.

As I leave the house, my phone makes some sort of sound like a bell. Ah yes, my text tone. It was the most boring one I could find and as always, I absolutely _adore_ boring things. Note the sarcasm.

It’s a text from Phil Lester, and he wants to know if I wanna hang out. God, this is exciting. Oh, what do I say? What does someone say when the person who makes them feel happy for once wants to hang out?

I reply with a short, yet simple answer, which is ‘yes’, then I wait for his response. Which is… an address? Oh wait, I’m an idiot. It’s _his_ address. Wow, Dan, nice. You totally deserve to be considered smart. Not.

I enter the address into _Google Maps_ and make my way to the street that’s mentioned in the text. As I walk, I hum to myself and think of what I want to say. Who’ll answer the door? Phil? His parents? His brother? No, his brother’s moved out. God, I hope Phil answers. This is awkward enough as it is; I don’t need his mum or dad to answer the door and wonder who the hell I am. I can imagine the conversation now. _“Oh look honey, a strange boy is here.” “Oh, maybe he’s here for Phil.” “I’d hope not. He looks gay and we can’t have our dear Phil being influenced.”_

Oh god, what am I doing to myself? I’m probably overreacting. Yeah, that’s it. They’re most likely really nice people. If they _do_ answer I’ll just say that Phil wanted to hang out. Yeah.

After five minutes of looking, I finally find the house I’m looking for. It’s got a yellow exterior and a small garden out front. I walk up the porch steps and knock on the door. The mat in front says _The_ _Lesters_ on it in curly letters that look like they were hand drawn or something.

A woman—I’m guessing Phil’s mum—opens the door and I smile awkwardly at her. “I- I’m here for Phil,” I say, stumbling over the words that come out of my mouth for some reason. “Oh, you must be Dan. Phil said he was expecting a Dan. Come in. I’ll get him down here for you,” she says and I follow her inside. She closes the door and calls upstairs.

”Philip! Dan’s here!” she yells as she directs me to the living room. Philip? I should have known. Obviously his full first name isn’t just Phil. That sounds too boring. I don’t know.

Days without school are Phil’s best friend, I believe, whereas they’re my worst enemy. He must’ve just woken up because his hair is tousled and he’s wearing glasses. My favorite Phil. His mum lovingly kisses him on the cheek and he gets annoyed, but he’s not really annoyed because he’s smiling.

He then turns to me. “Oh Dan, I didn’t think you’d be here so soon,” he tells me and I shrug. “You know, my house isn’t that far from here, really. It took me maybe _five_ minutes to get here? I’m not sure,” I explain and he nods.

”Did you have breakfast? My mum’s cooking is rather nice,” he says and I shake my head. “Nah. I didn’t have time,” I tell him. His mum must’ve overheard because she pokes her head into the room. “In that case, I’ll make you a plate as well Dan,” she says before returning to the kitchen.

”Your mum’s much nicer than mine,” I say and Phil shrugs. “Eh, she’s alright. A lot of people tell me that,” he replies, running his fingers through his hair and yawning.

”But it’s true. I think my mum must hate me or something,” I say. “Your mum can’t really hate you,” Phil says and I nod. “Oh, but she _does_ hate me.”

Just then we’re called into the kitchen. I follow behind Phil as he walks, getting only a few seconds to admire what I can see of his house. It looks much more lived in compared to my own and is so much brighter. The kitchen is full of color and smells amazing. There’s a dining table with six chairs and a blue tartan tablecloth.

When Phil and I are sat down, plates are placed in front of us. Eggs, toast, bacon. In the middle of the table is a plethora of ingredients such as Nutella, butter, a cinnamon/sugar concoction and jam. “Whenever mum adds toast to breakfast, this is usually what gets set out,” Phil explains and I nod. He pulls the Nutella toward himself and opens the seemingly brand new jar, taking a butter knife and scooping some of it out and spreading it on one of the pieces of toast on his plate. He spreads butter on the second piece and begins to eat.

I’ve never eaten at someone’s house besides my own, so my first time being in the house of the person I find most attractive is just awkward. Nonetheless I spread Nutella on both pieces of toast and close the jar before picking up a piece of bacon. I begin to eat it hesitantly and wow. It’s not too crunchy or too soft. The perfect piece of bacon.

”This is… woah. You were right. Your mum _is_ a good cook,” I say, eating more of the bacon, and Phil chuckles.

When we finish eating, I put my plate and fork in the sink. Now I stand next to it awkwardly as I don’t know what to do. That is until Phil turns to me with a small smile.

”We can hang out in my room if you want?” he suggests with a hint of embarrassment in his voice. I nod and his smile grows impossibly larger. “Okay. Yeah, that’s fine,” I tell him and he beckons for me to follow him. He leads me upstairs and into a room (which is obviously his). I’m overwhelmed by the various anime and video game-related memorabilia and random music posters. His duvet is covered in overlapping blue and green squares and there’s a lion plush sat in the middle of his bed.

”Nice room,” I say and a dusting of pink slowly coats his cheeks. “Thanks, I guess,” he mutters as he walks over to his dresser and suddenly, I feel bad about my choice of wording. “I mean, it looks _way_ better than mine does. I mean, my parents won’t let me decorate it because they’re worried I’ll make it look too gay or something,” I say, hoping it’ll lighten the awkward mood.

Phil turns to face me after getting a change of clothes. “How does someone make a room look too gay?” he asks and I shrug. “I don’t know. They’d also prefer it if I didn’t make it look fun. My brother, however, can make his room look however he wants it to look. They don’t stop him. If he wanted to put a fricken _rainbow flag_ in there and paint his walls neon orange, then he’d be encouraged. My parents would even buy it all for him,” I say and he lets out a laugh, though it’s an awkward one. He looks at me with an apologetic look in his eyes before sighing.

”Let me change into normal clothing, then we can hang out. You know, like we’re supposed to,” Phil states and leaves the room.

Oh, right. The assignment. I was hoping he’d forgotten, but I guess not. At least we’re sort of becoming friends. I don’t know.

What if he doesn’t actually like me, or finds me annoying? What if, on Monday, he asks to get a different partner because he thinks I’m too needy? God, that’s my worst fear. No, my worst fear is him hating me because I’m gay. I don’t want him to hate me; in fact, I want him to do the opposite, but I know that’s not going to happen. Hell, he’s probably as straight as an uncooked pasta noodle.

I sigh. I’m too hopeful for my own good and it usually backfires on me. Like with Jesse. I want to forget Jesse and how he almost kissed me. I want to forget how he told me he had a crush on someone, but said he couldn’t tell me because he knew I would hate him. I could never’ve hated him, not for even a millisecond.

Phil returns, hair half-straightened, and sits on his bed next to me. “So,” he begins, adjusting his glasses so they sit comfortably on the bridge of his nose, “what do you wanna do today? We could play Mario Kart, or we could just talk. It’s up to you.”

I shrug as I weigh my options. Mario Kart seems like the most fun, but just talking could lead to us getting to know one another. I sigh again. “I don’t know. I’m not that good at making decisions. Why don’t you choose?” I suggest and he nods.

”Mario Kart it is.”

* * *

Once Phil’s Wii U is set up and Mario Kart 8 is inserted into the console, we both sit in front of the TV. Phil has the GamePad whilst I hold the only wheel he has.

”So,” Phil says as we choose characters and karts, “you mentioned that your mum hates you?”

Wow, Phil, what a nice topic to start off with. “Yeah. She hates me quite a lot and plays favorites. Guess I came out _wrong_ or something,” I tell him. An awkward laugh slips past my lips. He looks at me, inquiry clouding his eyes. “It’s… personal,” I mutter in response and the first race out of four begins.

After nearly a tie between my Mario and Phil’s Waluigi, he turns to me, the same inquiry present in his eyes. But this time, worry is added into the mix. “Are you okay?” he asks and I shrug. I don’t know if I’m okay, or if I’ll ever be okay.

But I don’t say this to Phil. Instead I nod, eager to keep something about myself a secret. “Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s keep playing. I bet I can beat you this time,” I say, a hint of competition in my words, and he narrows his eyes. “Bring it on, Howell. I’m the best Mario Kart player.”

”In your dreams, Lester.”

As we continue to play, I can’t help but notice the way Phil’s eyes are glued to the TV in an almost trance-like state. He barely blinks and his tongue sticks out with concentration. The colors of his eyes seem impossibly brighter when combined with the screen.

I can’t help but stare at him. He’s beautiful—well, as beautiful as a boy can be. I just hope he notices how beautiful he is.

It sucks having a crush on someone, especially if you barely know them and especially if they’re the same sex. It’s awkward, terrifying and oh-so-annoying when you can’t tell them.

I wish I could tell him. I wish I could compliment him freely and not inside my head. Because that’s all this is. Thoughts inside my head. Phil will never know how I see him because that’s not how any of this works.

Phil will never know that I want to kiss him until I run out of breath. Phil will never know that I want to be able to hug him freely and tell him all of my problems and that I want him to tell me everything will be okay even though it’s not. Phil will never know that I crave affection from him specifically; I crave forehead kisses and _I love you_ s and just general attention.

He won’t ever know and I can’t let him know. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi soz this took so long to update. it took a long time to write because i want the chapters to be lengthy (if that makes sense?). anyways that’s it until the next chapter i guess


	4. iv

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan hates Sundays with a passion, but maybe somebody can make them bearable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter talks a lot about religion (mostly christianity) and atheism but good news!: dan could literally care less about any religion so he says ‘fuck all religion’. 
> 
> side note: if you can’t tell, it’s one chapter per one day in book time. chapter 1 was thursday, 2 was friday, 3 was saturday and so on :)

* * *

Religion is a touchy subject, and it’s one that I hate. I absolutely _despise_ religion and people who are overly-religious to the point where they’re so sure that only their beliefs matter and to Hell with everyone who disagrees with them.

I think it’s all pointless. Christianity is pointless. If God were actually real, he would just fucking obliterate the entire planet because people are assholes. They follow a damn book like it’s a bucket list and take things from it out of context. _Love thy neighbor_? More like ‘ _Love thy neighbor only if they succumb to your way of living and are cishet and white_ ’.

It makes no sense, but I’m forced to go to church every Sunday where the preacher is a bigoted asshole who rants about non-cishets going to Hell. I’m made to wear a suit and pray because that’s what good little straight boys do. Ah yes, you’re only straight if you wear a suit and tie and go to church.

”This is so stupid,” I mutter and my mum puts her hand on my shoulder only to tighten her grip. I can feel her nails through this suit jacket. “Shut up before I _make_ you,” she replies harshly and returns her hand to its place next to her hip.

I nod, tears pricking my eyes, and let my gaze fall to the floor so nobody sees that I’m close to crying. Sundays give me anxiety, and I hate them. I wish I could kill myself much quicker, just so I don’t have to deal with any of this. My parents would surely be so much happier because they’d finally have the perfect family they always talk about. The perfect family they’ve always wanted; one they deserve.

I know how my parents will act when I die. They’ll throw the biggest party and invite everyone. My brother and friends will mourn, but eventually they’ll get over it. And Phil? Well, we’ve hung out a total of once, so he won’t care. No one will care for long, and that’s a good thing. I’m glad I don’t have many friends because it’s less people I have to disappoint, to be fair. More friends equals more people who know how much I fail at being alive.

And I do fail at being alive. Hell, I wasn’t even supposed to be alive according to my mum. I bet my parents wanted to neglect me, just so Child Protective Services would save them from having to deal with me for seventeen years.

God, has it really been almost eighteen years that I’ve been alive? Eighteen long, miserable years. Eighteen years without a best friend and eighteen years with parents who hate me. I wish my grandmother hadn’t died. She was the most supportive of me being gay and would even let me stay at her house when my parents were being awful. It’s been nearly three years and I doubt I’ll ever get over her death.

Soon, though, I’ll get to see her again.

Church ends as quickly as it began and mum drives the three of us home. Adrian is sat in the front seat whereas I—long legs and all—am in the back, my knees bent and my head down to prevent it from hitting the ceiling. I swear I was cursed with being six-feet tall.

The car is silent throughout the five minute drive but a billion things are rushing through my head, making it seem louder than it actually is. All of those things fall back to me wondering why I’m not good enough and why I have a crush on someone I can’t have. I bet Phil’s parents have never told him they wish he was never born, that he was a mistake. I bet they’ve told him they love him, something nobody apart from my grandmother’s ever done.

Mum parks the car in the drive and I take this opportunity to get out of the car. Soon I can get out of this _awful_ suit and into a t-shirt and jeans. I miss my Vans and my straightener. I also miss Phil– no, I can’t. Not because of my mother, but because I can’t have a crush on someone I barely know, and I barely know Phil Lester. I’ve talked to him once. I can’t even consider us friends.

Once upstairs I walk into my boring, bland, bedroom and change into a black _Muse_ t-shirt and black skinny jeans. My tattered black Vans are slipped on and tied and I comb through my hair. I hate my hair no matter if it’s wavy or curly. I’m considering shaving my head, or dying it. Probably bright green. Definitely bright green.

I look in the mirror and tousle my hair, hoping that it will make any difference; that it’ll magically straighten itself.

Nothing.

As I turn to leave, I see Adrian standing in my doorway.

”Dan, can I talk to you for a second?”

I shrug before sitting on my bed and patting the space next to me. He walks in hesitantly, cautiously, and sits down. He fiddles with a loose string at the hem of his jumper before looking at me.

”Dan, why haven’t you left? You obviously don’t like it here,” he says and I shrug, unsure.

”I– I don’t know, I just… I don’t think anyone would want me to stay with them, you know? I always act like a confident, carefree person around my friends and everyone else, but at home… I feel like—oh, what’s the word?—I feel like I’m falling apart, and pretty soon there won’t be anyone to pick up the pieces,” I vent.

Oddly, I like to spill all of my problems onto my brother. He listens to me and doesn’t tell me that my problems don’t matter. But he’s only eleven and can’t understand my problems 

Adrian gets to his feet and turns to me, a small smile stuck to his lips. “I know you’re not happy, and you probably haven’t been for a while,” he says and I shrug. “No, I haven’t,” I tell him.

He walks towards my door but stops before he can fully leave my room. There’s a hint of pity in his eyes.

”Do me a favor, Dan. Please, leave. Leave before it gets worse.”

He exits my room without another word and it’s quiet. If only he knew what my plan was, then he wouldn’t’ve told me to leave. I can’t tell him, either. No one can know that I plan on killing myself eventually.

I sigh, grab my wallet and phone and head downstairs. Phil wants to hang out again today, so we’re getting lunch and seeing a film after. It’s like a comedy-slash-drama film. I read the reviews and one of them was, and I quote, ‘ _A film that is more drama than comedy, but with comedic elements_ ’. Phil suggested it, so me being a person who would literally murder someone for Phil Lester, I immediately obliged.

We’re supposed to meet one another at Starbucks, which isn’t too far from my house—it’s perfectly in between both of our houses. As I walk, a million things are buzzing through my head. My eventual suicide, whatever my brother said, my parents and the amount of love they don’t show me, Phil and the possibility of us becoming friends outside of this whole assignment.

We’re supposed to meet at around eleven, and it’s just turned half ten; which means that I’ve thirty or so minutes until I have to actually _be_ at Starbucks. It’s a ten minute walk, which confuses me because like I said—it’s between mine and Phil’s houses.

As I walk, I look through my wallet. The only aspect of my mum’s personality that I don’t hate is her willingness to give me money. I get a thousand pounds at the beginning of each week, which is more than enough, but I don’t argue with her. Not after the last time. You think her calling me a mistake is bad? Well, imagine that, _plus_ being forced to sleep somewhere else for a night because you’ve been kicked out over a stupid argument.

When I get to the Starbucks it’s about fifteen minutes ‘til eleven, so I sit at one of the tables and let my eyes focus on the menu above the counter. I don’t actually _know_ what I want. Food would be nice, since I didn’t bother having breakfast, but coffee would be as well.

One of the baristas walks over to where I’m sat, a smile on her face that seems forced. “Do you need anything?” she asks and I shake my head. “I’m actually waiting for someone,” I tell her. Her face lights up, causing me to internally cringe. “Oh, so like a date?” she asks. “No! God, I _wish_ , but sadly no,” I say, sighing to myself, and she nods. Great, now she’ll pity me, _especially_ when Phil comes in and sits across from me.

Speak of the devil, here he is and _God_ , I want him to stop being so annoyingly attractive. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for Phil to look nice no matter what, but we don’t always get what we want and therefore I’m stuck.

Phil’s eyes meet mine and he smiles before walking over to where I am and sitting down in the chair across from my own. It’s awkwardly silent apart from the group of people who’ve struck up a conversation about whether DC or Marvel is better.

”So,” Phil begins, his voice lowered to just above a whisper. “Did you order anything yet?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know what I want,” I say and he gets to his feet, then turns to face me. “Well, c’mon then. Let’s order something.”

I shrug and stand up, wallet in hand. “Have you thought about what you want?” I ask and Phil nods. “I’m actually a coffee addict, so I always get a coffee-related drink,” he says once we get up to the counter. “Ah, okay. Uh, what do you suggest?” I ask, secretly hoping that he suggests whatever he’s getting.

”Well,” he says, his eyes falling over the menu, “I’ve only had it _once_ , but the iced matcha green tea latte is good if you like green tea.”

I nod and stare up at the menu. “Alright, I’ll have that. What about you?” I ask. Phil’s eyes scan the menu and he scratches the back of his neck in confusion. “Er… probably just an iced white chocolate mocha,” he says and I nod. “So, we’re both getting iced drinks?”

Phil provides a passing nod in time for the barista to finally come to take our order. Before I can say what I want, Phil’s soft voice speaks up. “He’ll have an iced matcha green tea latte and I’ll have an iced white chocolate mocha,” he says and she gives him a side-eye. “Sizes?” she asks and Phil turns to me.

”Uh, doesn’t matter to me,” I say and he nods. “Medium for both,” he says. The barista names a price, asks for our names, and Phil pays. I don’t understand why, though, as I could have easily payed for my own.

When we sit down, I express my confusion with a tilt of my head. Phil stares at me, a equally confused look expressed in his gaze. “Why’d you pay for my drink?” I ask. A dusting of pink coats his cheeks and he smiles awkwardly. “I was– uh– I was just trying to be nice?” he suggests and my heart suddenly falls. Is he only being nice to me because he _pities_ me? Is that everyone else’s reason for being nice to me? Because they _pity_ me?

Oh, well that explains everything. There was no way Phil or anybody else would actually be my friend.

”Oh,” I reply softly, “well, thank you. I guess.” Phil nods as our names are called. He stands and walks up to the counter. I put my head on the table and sigh, my head overrun with intrusive thoughts.

Nobody actually cares about me. The people who say they’re my friends are actually only hanging out with me because they feel bad for me. They hate me and find me annoying.

Maybe I _am_ annoying, with my overly-positive approach to things. Maybe it’s because I’m too gay? Ugh, what if that’s it?

Phil sets a green drink in front of me and I put my head up. I can’t read his expression, and I’m usually good at understanding how people feel.

”Are you okay?”

His question is brief, his voice soft, and I nod. “Uh, y-yeah. Just– hey, what time is it?” I ask, hoping to change the subject. It must’ve worked, because Phil checks his phone. “Nearly twelve. The movie starts in about thirty minutes,” he explains and I nod.

”Alright. When should we leave?” I ask and Phil shrugs. “The cinema is a ten-minute walk, so soon, I guess,” he says.

I take a sip of my drink and stand up. “We could leave now, yeah?” I suggest. Phil nods. “Yeah, let’s go,” he says, joining me as I leave the Starbucks.

As we walk side-by-side, I sneak glances at him. He has a blank look on his face and his eyes are dull; the look of someone who’s bored.

Bored of _me_.

My steps slow and Phil continues walking ahead until he stops. He turns to face me then walks toward me.

”Dan, are you alright? We don’t have to watch the movie if you don’t want to,” he says. I shake my head. “No, I’m fine. We can watch the movie,” I tell him and walk ahead of him, my pace quick. He follows suit and we make it to the cinema earlier than expected.

We walk inside and I sit on a bench that shoved up against a wall. I have to repeat to myself that this isn’t a date. I’m not (and will never be) on a date with Phil Lester. The world just doesn’t work like that. People like me just don’t deserve to be happy.

Phil sits next to me and I scoot away from him. He gives me a sad look and his eyes are filled with disappointment.

Shit.

I stand up and walk over to the counter, where I see one of my _friends_ working.

”Hello, Jake. Since when did you work here?” I ask and he shrugs. “Since I decided I want to move out. What are _you_ doing here?” he asks and I motion towards Phil. “We’re seeing Bloom,” I tell him and he nods, a smirk plastered on his face.

”Like a date?” he asks and I shake my head. “No, not like a date. We’re hanging out as friends. Why are people always assuming it’s a date?” I ask, frustrated. “First, the barista at Starbucks and now you? What the hell?”

Jake holds his hands up, a sign I should calm down. “Dan, chill. It was only a joke,” he says and my shoulders fall. Great, I’ve made a fool of myself.

”I’m sorry, I– can I just have two tickets to the movie?” I ask and Jake nods, printing two tickets off and I hand him two ten-pound notes. I walk away after I’m handed the tickets and head back over to where Phil is. I hand him his ticket with a small smile.

”It was the least I could do after you payed for my drink,” I tell him and walk into the theater that’ going to be showing the movie.

Phil and I sit down near the back and I sigh, happy that I get to watch a film and have it be recent.

There’s a deafening silence between us despite the room being full of people, conversing about anything and everything.

”Phil, do you ever think about your impact on the world?” I ask and he turns to face me, his eyes wide. “What are you talking about?” he asks and I shrug. “Like do you ever think about what happens after you die? Like how people will react and whether or not you’ll be remembered ten, twenty, thirty and so on years from now,” I explain.

Phil shakes his head. “Not really. What about you?”

I laugh softly. “All the time. I can’t go a day with _out_ thinking about it. I want people to remember me as more than just the fuck up who deserves to have a party thrown after I’m gone. But it’s what I deserve, Phil. I deserve whatever my parents’ll do when I die, and that will most likely be a huge party that everyone will go to because they all hate me.”

Phil puts a hand on my leg and I feel my face heat up. “Where’s all of this coming from?” he asks and I feel tears pricking at my eyes. I blink them away, hoping he didn’t see, and shrug. “I guess– I don’t know, I guess it’s just what I expect from everyone. I’m annoying. My friends think I am. My parents do. My brother does. You do. I just– I don’t know what to do or how to fix it. That’s– thats probably why Jesse left. He probably _begged_ his parents to move just so he could get away from me. He probably led me on purposefully, made me think he felt something, then left. He–”

The tears are falling now, and I can’t stop them. No matter how hard I try, the emotions won’t go away. No matter how much I try to block them out, my feelings of abandonment won’t leave.

”Dan, listen to me, okay? Nobody hates you or finds you annoying. I may not’ve known Jesse personally, but I saw how he acted around you. He couldn’t’ve hated you. Hell, I don’t even hate you. Trust me when I say that you’re loved. Honestly,” Phil says. I want to believe him, I really do, but I can’t. Not when all people have done is lie to me and betray me.

Despite my denial, I nod. “Okay, I believe you,” I tell him, even if it’s a lie. He smiles as the beginning credits of the film start.

* * *

When the film concludes, Phil and I exit the cinema in tears.

The movie was about a girl and her group of friends and they’re on a camping trip. It’s all happy and fun until the main character falls into a rushing current halfway through the movie. One of her friends goes in to save her and the rest of the movie is an action sequence spent with them trying to escape. But only one escapes and the other girl dies because she was in the river for too long.

”That was… rather upsetting,” Phil says, breaking the ongoing silence between the two of us, and I nod. “Yeah, it was. She wanted to be an actress, and had an audition after she got home,” I say, putting my hands in my pockets. I kick a stone and watch as it collides with a nearby telephone pole.

”What do you wanna do now?” he asks and I shrug as I kick another stone. “Whatever you want, as long as I don’t have to go home,” I tell him and he stops walking. I turn to face him, tilting my head in confusion. “Let’s have fun, stay out as late as we want. Say it’s for a school project, which it technically _is_ ,” he suggests.

”What are we meant to do then? Manchester isn’t exactly the most _fun_ place when there’s school,” I tell him and he shrugs. “Whatever we want. Hey, I’ve got an idea. Follow me.”

Phil leads me towards one of the few parks in the city, but we don’t stop there. Instead, we continue walking through an opening in some wooded area.

”Shh,” he says and I nod, though I’m confused. We continue our walk until we’re stood in front of a tangle of vines and branches. Phil separates it all fairly easily and beckons for me to follow him through.

We walk for a few more minutes until a field with blue flowers comes into view.

”Holy shit,” I breathe and Phil laughs softly. “Dan, welcome to my version of paradise,” he says, sitting down. I follow suit and lie back. He lies next to me and turns on his side.

”So, Dan, tell me about yourself,” he says and I burst out laughing. “You don’t wanna know anything about me,” I say and copy his position. “Who says? I surely didn’t,” Phil retorts and I sigh. “Okay, um… context clues. Use context clues.”

Phil nods and turns onto his back, his gaze glued to the sky. It’s very blue with wisps of clouds scattered throughout. “The sky looks nice,” I comment absentmindedly, falling into the same position Phil’s in.

”Not as nice as you.”

My eyes widen at the words he’d just spoken and I feel my face heat up. “W-What?” I choke out, my voice just barely reaching a whisper, and I sit up.

”Oh, it was– it was nothing. Forget I said anything.”

I hum in response before standing up. “I– I just remembered that I’m supposed to be home soon,” I say.

Is this what I’m supposed to feel like? It’s not as if he tried to kiss me. No, this is worse.

Before Phil can say anything, I walk back the way I entered and head towards my house. It’s a twenty-minute walk, and as soon as I step into my room I lie facedown on my bed and let out the the loudest sob. It renders me incapable of breathing properly and all I want to do is scream.

Phil hates me, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I hate feeling like this, but it’s my fault. I can’t do anything right, and I’ve proven that time and time again. No wonder he didn’t want me to know what he said.

And this is how I fall asleep; crying, with my brain plagued with thoughts of how I’ll never be good enough for anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took rlly long to write and i’m soz :( it woulda been done sooner, but a lot of writing disappeared (it was good, too). so if this sucks at all, blame me for not saving
> 
> i do have a plan, i promise. the only thing that isn’t planned is the number of chapters at the moment. but dw, when i have a general idea of how many i want, i’ll let ya know!
> 
> kudos and comments are appreciated! :)


	5. v

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan’s mental health is getting worse, and all of his friends see right through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: this chapter could be triggering to some as it talks about dying, suicide and self-harm. if any of this triggers you, please take caution when reading.
> 
> side note: there’s blood imagery throughout the entire chapter as well, so if that triggers you as well, beware.
> 
> also i want to add a new character fairly soon; like, next chapter soon

I want to die. That’s it. I just want to die. I’ve mentioned it so many times before, but it was just me being sarcastic. Now, I’m seriously considering dying very soon. I can’t stop thinking about yesterday. Phil said I looked nicer than the sky, but apparently I’d heard him wrong. I asked him to repeat himself, and he played it off as if he hadn’t meant it. Maybe he didn’t mean it, and I’m just unattractive.

I should have killed myself yesterday. It would have made everything so much easier. No more school. No more family. No more friends. No more Jesse. And no more Phil.

Ouch, that actually hurts to think about.

I can imagine the headlines now: ‘ _Local Teen Daniel Howell Commits Suicide, Parents Overjoyed and Friends Not Actually Devastated’._ Actually the funniest thing I will ever come up with.

I force my forehead to collide with a wall in the bathroom, not caring that it’s giving me a massive headache. It’s probably going to bruise, but I could care less. It’s not like any bruises will matter when I’m dead.

Before I can continue with hitting my head against the side of the bathroom stall, I hear the door open.

”Dan? You came in here nearly an hour ago. Are you alright?”

Phil. Tears immediately rush down my cheeks involuntarily.

”I’m– I’m _fine_. Just… fine. Just– I’ll be out in a minute,” I reply, my voice a shaking mess. I wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my jumper and unlock the stall door. Phil’s standing in front of me. We meet eyes for a split second before I look at the floor.

”Dan, were you– were you crying?” he asks and I look up at him, shaking my head. Wow, Dan, why can’t you stop lying?

I don’t know, because he lied to me?

Shut up. Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up. Shut. Up.

I shove past him and walk over to the sink and look in the mirror. My eyes are red around the edges and bloodshot. Premature tear stains cover my pale cheeks and stray tears have found a home in the corners of my eyes. I reach up and run a finger down my face; the spot where the tears had escaped my eyes is dry.

My lips are chapped. I’ve never noticed it, but they’re definitely dry and starting to crack. I run my tongue across the top lip, then the bottom, hoping that the moisture will help. It doesn’t and my lips are now tingling slightly, which makes me decide to chew the loose skin off of my bottom lip.

It sends a burning, stinging sensation up to my skull and a metallic taste overwhelms my senses. It makes me feel lightheaded and ill.

  
This is a feeling I know all too well—I usually experience it when I’m overly anxious, or when I’m refusing to speak. Today, however, it’s both.

I bring my hand up to my bottom lip and retract it once I feel wetness. When I finally glance up into the mirror, I notice a trail of blood seeping down my chin horribly slowly. Phil has seen it as well, because I can see an expression of worry plastered across his facial features.

It hurts. It shouldn’t hurt, I should be fine, but I’m not fine and it does hurt. It hurts so much and I don’t know if it’ll ever _stop_ hurting.

He takes a step towards me, slowly, and I watch as his eyes—his ever-so-pretty eyes—continuously glance down at the blood on my chin, which continues to make its way down, further and further. I hear the faint sound of a drop of blood colliding with the floor; the color is a dark crimson, and it continues to fall.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Just like when I slit my wrists, and the blood hits the bathroom floor.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I remember the first time I cut myself. It was after my mom had first hit me. She left a bruise on my cheek, so I left three slices on my arm, deep enough to stick the tip of a pencil in. It hurt like hell for the first few minutes each time, but eventually it stopped hurting and eventually, I couldn’t feel it at all.

I know, how graphic. Haha.

Instinctively, I cross my arms, hoping that Phil hadn’t seen them. I laugh inwardly; as if he would even care. He wouldn’t, because he doesn’t care about me. He led me on, made me think that he felt the same way about me as I felt— _feel_ —about him. But he doesn’t, so there’s really no reason for me to go on trying any longer.

Why should I? Why should I keep trying, when it’ll only hurt me in the end? Yeah, I know it’s my fault for developing a crush on him. I can’t help it– he’s just too pretty. 

I sigh. I’m done. Done feeling this way. Done crying. Done with everything. Using my sleeve, I wipe away the blood and leftover tears, then turn to face _him._ I can’t even think of his name. Thinking of it will bring me back—make me feel like that again. I don’t want to feel like that anymore.

There’s worry in his eyes. “It’s just a little blood. I’m fine.”

It’s a bad attempt at reassurance, but it’s all I have. All I’m good for. Bad attempts at things. He opens his mouth to speak, but I shrug his attempt off and instead walk out the bathroom door, refusing to let him deny that I’m fine.

I’m fine… aren’t I? I mean, I should be, shouldn’t?

No, I shouldn’t. However, I have to be. I have to be fine, because if I’m not… if I’m not…

I exhale softly, just as Shane comes walking towards me. “Dude, it’s time for lunch. Where have Ayou been?” he asks. I cringe inwardly. I hate that word. _Dude_. It’s so gross. Nevertheless, I shrug. “Bathroom, I guess. It’s where I always am, and it’s where I’ll always be, Shane. Where _else_ would I be?” I ask sarcastically, the need to bash my fuckin’ head into the wall ever-so prominent.

He apologizes swiftly, a hint of denial in his words, and I shake my head.

“No, I’m the one who should be sorry– not you. It’s not your fault.”

Shane nods, and we walk towards the cafeteria. Ah yes, the cafeteria; the place where I first saw _him._ Y’know, I hate not saying his name, but it’s what’s best.

Best for me, for however long I’m left alive on this earth. I’m leaving soon, which makes me happy. Truly, unexplainably happy. Happier than I’ve been in a long time.

The thing is… I know I won’t regret it. Regret is a sin, according to everyone I’ve ever come in contact with, but regret is something I will never feel.

Regret’s a sin, as is suicide. Do I care? Absolutely not. I do not care what is a sin and what is not. Just like I don’t care whether or not I live.

Simple.

I sit with Shane at an empty table while we wait for the others. What are their names again? Elliot, Louise, Jake… who else? Oh, fuck it. I honestly couldn’t care less.

As I narrow my eyes, I can see Jake sitting in front of me. Someone sits beside him, and someone else sits on his other side. Louise is next to me, and so is Shane. Elliot is next to Jake, and…?

I screw my eyes shut. No, not now. Not again. I thought this was over. Think, Dan, think. Who all sits at this table? It’s a six-person table; how hard could it possibly be?

Extremely hard, remember? Remember when you were thirteen, and you hit your head? Or at least, that’s what everyone says you did.

I direct my attention to the mystery boy who I cannot remember the name of. His blonde hair should make him recognizable, but I just can’t remember.

My attention is directed to the only person who knows about my ‘condition’: Shane. I sigh and tap on his shoulder. He turns to me, a confused expression on his face.

”Uh… who is that sitting by Jake? And not Elliot,” I ask. Shane’s eyes swiftly move from me to the mystery boy, and back to me. “Oh, that’s Will,” he explains and I nod. “M’kay, got it.”

Everyone apart from me goes up to get lunch, whilst I stay at the table; of course, wallowing in self-pity as always.

Sometimes, I wish that I were attractive enough—straight, even—to date someone, fall in love, and not want to kill myself. But I’m gay, highly unattractive, not able to date anyone or fall in love and I _definitely_ want to kill myself.

When the table is filled once more, Elliot attempts to get my attention. I turn to face him.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks; I nod. “Yeah, why?” I question, my head tilted in a silent inquiry. “Well, you never get lunch anymore,” he states and I shrug. “Not that hungry during lunch,” I say. It’s true; I eat very little—if anything—for breakfast, which ends up causing me to not be hungry because _apparently_ I no longer need nutrition before or during school. Food is nice sometimes, but not all the time, y’know?

You might be thinking, ‘ _but Dan, you need food to live!_ ’. Well, I hate to burst your little ego bubble, but I no longer want to be alive, and food will keep me in this hell for longer. So shut the fuck up, and stop nagging me. Goddamnit.

Great, I’m arguing with myself again; just another reason why I’m a massive fuck-up that deserves nothing but endless suffering.

Elliot shrugs and hands me a chip. “Not hungry,” I tell him, but he doesn’t give up. I frown before I stand up. “I’m not hungry,” I repeat, then I exit the cafeteria.

I don’t look behind me, but I can hear someone following me. The footsteps are familiar; the pace, the weight… it all screams his name. He takes light, quick steps to catch up with me, so I begin walking faster. I want him to leave me alone.

I stop, my gaze facing out the doors. I want to leave. I want him to leave.

”Why are you following me?” I ask.

”Why are you trying to leave?” he asks, and I shrug. “Because I want to. I can’t be at school. I can’t be around– I don’t want to be around _you_ ,” I say. The words leave an awful taste in my mouth and I want to scream out that I didn’t mean it, but it’s too late. The words have left my mouth, and I don’t want to see his reaction.

His footsteps continue to follow me as I exit the building. Why? Why must he do this? Make me feel this way? As soon as I’m outside, I sit against the wall. In my peripheral vision, I notice him sit next to me. I pull my knees to my chest and rest my chin on them.

”Everything was fine yesterday… what happened?” he asks and I shrug, unsure of what I’m supposed to say. I never know what to say—or how to feel—around him.

”Do you remember anything about someone getting into an accident about four years ago?” I ask suddenly, instinctively pulling my hood over my head. He nods. “Yeah. They said the person suffered a horrible head injury because they’d fallen out of a tree,” he explains and I sigh. “Well, I uh– I know who it was,” I say, turning to him.

Our eyes meet briefly before I turn my gaze down. In that brief second, his eyes are filled with realization. “It was you… wasn’t it?”

I nod. “Mhm, and they say I have selective-slash-dissociative amnesia. So I remember very few people and things, as well as conversations. People say we met before, but I don’t remember that and I doubt I ever will.”

Amnesia is depressing. People tell me things that I should remember, but I don’t remember anything they tell me.

”Wanna know what’s the worst part? Only certain people know. My family, my quote-on-quote ‘best friend’, doctors… and now, you. Eight people know, and the rest are completely clueless. You know Chris Kendall and PJ Liguori? What am I saying, you probably do. But, they suspect that I _do_ have amnesia. Why am I even telling you this? We’re not technically friends and–”

I look up to see him in awe. “I mean, not friends _yet_. Unless… you _want_ to be friends?” I suggest. It’s not the best suggestion though, seeing as I don’t want to say his name.

He nods, though I can see in his face that he thought we were already friends. Of course we were—the keyword here being the word _were_. We _were_ friends. And now, we are once again; this means that I have to say his name.

But that’s extremely difficult, seeing as every time I hear it or even _mention_ it, I get goosebumps and want to tear my hair out. Nevertheless, I have to deal with it.

”So, Phil… do you plan on going back in?” I ask, gesturing towards the door as saying his name makes my stomach churn (in a good way, of course). He nods, but there’s a look in his eyes that says something else. “Yes, but only for a minute. I have to get my phone,” he explains and I nod as I grip my own in my hand.

Phil stands and enters the building before exiting once more, holding his phone in his hand.

”So, where to? It’s a Monday at eleven twenty-one am. There’s not much to do,” I ask and he gives a small smile; a look that says it’s a surprise. Great, I hate surprises.

We eventually arrive at his house. Thankfully, it’s nowhere near my own or else my mum would have a fit and send me to some sorta camp because I’m hanging out with a boy during school hours.

She’s threatened to send me before, many times. She honestly hates me. She’s said it, expressed her old desire to get rid of me. She would have gotten rid of me long ago if it weren’t for my grandmother.

But wait, it gets better! She (as I’ve mentioned before) absolutely _adores_ my younger brother. If it weren’t for him, my mum would be so much worse.

Phil’s mum greets us when we walk inside and he gives me a look of reassurance. “I told her that you have a cold and that your mum was busy, so we had to come over here and have you rest,” he explains and I nod.

”Thank you,” I tell him quietly and he nods. I’m so thankful for him, and I’m kind of glad that he’s in my life—even though he said something that made my heart essentially shatter. I just hope nothing changes it, but something in my brain is telling me that it will. Sort of an ominous feeling, really; you’ll never know what I’m talking about unless you’ve experienced it– this whole feeling of dread and uneasiness. It’s not a good feeling; it’s a feeling akin to that of just knowing something horrible’s about to happen, but you don’t know what nor how to prevent it.

This feeling makes me want to vomit but I know that if I do, the worry won’t subside and my fears will continue to be a reality.

I screw my eyes shut, wanting the worry to stop. It’s annoying. I want to tell someone about all of my problems—that my parents hate me, that I slowly lose blood every day, that I want to kill myself and that I…

I just want someone to tell me that it’s okay; that they love me and care about me and won’t ever hurt me like I hurt myself. I want someone to help me get help, but that’s asking too much of anyone. No one would want to help me, which is why I’ll help myself by essentially _not_ helping myself. Hopefully that’s not too confusing. 

For the second time in my entire life, I’m sitting in Phil’s bedroom. On the bed, nonetheless. He’s sat next to me, scrolling through an app on his phone. To make it seem like I’m genuinely not at war with myself, I do the same, settling on Twitter.

Phil must notice that it’s what I’m on, because he begins to speak. “I didn’t know you had a Twitter?” he says and I nod. “Yeah, I do,” I state. Then, assuming he wants to follow me on it—I’m correct—I give my username to him. “It’s just… er, _danisnotonfire—_ all lowercase,” I say and he nods. Seconds later, I get a notification.

_AmazingPhil just followed you!_

I’m quick to follow him back, and I notice that he’s surprised at how many followers I have. “How do you have so many followers?” he asks and I shrug. “What can I say? I’m relatable,” I say and he laughs. Have I ever mentioned how much I like his laugh? It’s so nice.

”I can tell,” he remarks as he scrolls through my account. “Gotta love that good ole homophobia,” he reads and turns to me. “I er… I tweeted that after my mum slapped me for being gay, called me a mistake and said she would gladly go back and prevent me from existing. Said with a smile, nonetheless,” I explain and Phil’s expression is a mix of awe and horror.

”That’s kind of a horrible thing to say to someone’s child—especially if it’s your own,” he says and I shrug. “Yeah, I’m used to it,” I tell him before I stand up.

“You shouldn’t be used to it, Dan.”

Suddenly, there’s a lump in my throat and a knot in my chest. It hurts. The worst part? Phil’s not the first person to say that. My brother’s said it, more times than I can count.

”Yeah, I know. My brother says it to me all the time,” I reply. My voice is shaking so badly that it’s barely noticeable. I hate crying in front of people, and I’ve not cried even once in front of someone since my grandma died. It makes me seem more vulnerable than I already am, which is why I don’t show emotion.

Aha, Dan Howell is emo. Nobody even saw that coming. What are emotions? Who knows; I sure as hell don’t.

Ignore me, I’m an idiot—but, of course, we already knew that.

”He’s right, too,” Phil says and I nod.

”Hey, can I tell you something? Something, you know… quote-on-quote, ‘personal’?” I ask him and he tilts his head in confusion. “No, don’t worry. It’s not bad… at least, I hope,” I reiterate and Phil nods.

”Okay, uh… listen. This is just to forewarn you before you decide to _actually_ be my friend,” I say. Phil’s eyes meet my own—blue against brown. “Dan, whatever it is– no matter how bad it is, I promise that it won’t chase me away,” he says and I sigh.

”Okay, for starters—I get angry easily. I mean–“

I’m considering telling him about Sunday, when one of my friends—I honestly forget which one—asked if we were dating, and I sorta went off on him. I decide against it.

”Well, I’ve gotten angry at people for more reasons than I can count, and they’re mostly stupid. For instance, there was this one time when I was out with a friend and someone I know asked me if we were on a date. I went off on them and immediately felt bad because I actually wished I were on a date with this person. But I knew it would never happen and I still wish it would have been a date.”

I don’t want him to figure it out; that it was _our_ outing and that I wish so desperately that we had been on a date.

”Well, Dan, everyone gets angry at some point. It’s nothing bad. As for that friend…”

Phil pauses, and his face shows that he’s deep in thought. “Well, that friend probably had no idea you liked him in that way.”

I flinch involuntarily and his words send chills down my spine. I feel tears pooling at the corners of my eyes and I blink them away, which only results in them cascading down my cheeks.

”Dan, was it something I said?” he asks and I shake my head. “No– you’re right. He didn’t, and it hurts knowing that he’ll never know. If he did, I might _actually_ be happy for once,” I say. “That was… that was the other thing I wanted to tell you. Because of my parents, and probably other things, I am clinically depressed. I’ve gone to a therapist once in my life—after the accident, that is—and she diagnosed me with it. But as my mum hates me, there’s nothing I can do.”

Pouring my heart out to Phil Lester is sort of therapeutic in a way. But, it won’t do any good. I still want to die, and I still feel helplessly alone in all of this. I don’t go to the doctor anymore. I’d like to, but as I’m not eighteen yet, it’s not my decision. I can’t go by myself.

You know, the doctors said that stress can cause my amnesia to worsen and that eventually, I won’t remember anything at all. I don’t want to say anything about it to Phil though. That’s one aspect of this that I’d like to keep from him. I don’t want him to worry about me any more than he already does.

Eventually, it’s time for school to get out, which means that I have to head home. I dread the idea of returning somewhere that I can’t even call a home.

”Dan, I could walk you home if you’d like?” Phil suggests, and despite my brain screaming _No!_ at me on loop, I nod. ”Okay,” I say and we walk out of the house.

As we walk, I’m struck with thoughts of ‘what if’s, and naturally, I want to express those towards someone.

”Phil, what would you do if I were to—hypothetically—just drop dead one day? How would you feel-slash-react if someone were to tell you that I were dead?” I ask and his steps come to an immediate halt. “What are you talking about?” he asks, horror clouding his gaze, and I shrug. “Like I said: hypothetically. As in, how would you react? It’s not a difficult question, nor is it like– an actual thing that will happen.”

Phil shrugs. “Hypothetically. Well, how would you die in this situation?” he asks. “Dunno… suicide, maybe? There’re all sorts of ways I could die,” I explain. He seems to flinch at that word.

”Suicide…?” he asks slowly. I nod. His expression changes immediately. ”Don’t tell me that you’re actually _considering_ it,” he says. There’s a hint of a plea in his eyes. “Not at the moment, no,” I lie.

”Dan, please never consider it. Don’t do that to yourself. I honestly don’t know what I’d do if you killed yourself,” he says.

Not another word is said during the remainder of the walk, but the air around us is tense. And when I walk inside my bedroom, I let out every single tear I’ve kept bottled up for the past twelve hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter made me cry while i wrote it. seriously, i find it that upsetting. anyways, if you enjoyed it, comment your thoughts and maybe give kudos if you already haven’t? idk, just a thought


	6. vi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan’s accident; before, during and after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am a dumbass. this is not where the plot picks up; instead, this is a flashback of sorts—spanning over the course of a couple months. like the day it happens, the discovery that dan has lost half of his memory, etc.
> 
> honestly, i’m v excited to write this tbh bc it’s written in 3rd person aka the point of view i write in best.
> 
> also, it’s because dan remembers nothing from it.

It was a Friday afternoon in November, and it was like any other Friday before it. Thirteen-year-old Daniel Howell was out of school due to it being Autumn break. Jesse had just moved to Luxembourg a week prior, but Dan had mostly gotten past it.

He knew that he had school come Monday, so he decided to have a little fun before then. Dan climbed into the tree that was on his front lawn and sat on one of the higher branches.

”Dan, you’re gonna get hurt,” Adrian called to him and he laughed it off. “Dude, I’m not an idiot. I’ll be fine,” he retorted.

Adrian frowned. “But mum said no climbing in the tree,” he retorted and once again, Dan laughed it off. “Seriously, I’ll be f–“

The sound of the branch breaking cut Dan’s words off and he was sent falling out of the tree before landing with a thud that made him black out.

His parents immediately ran outside and his mum stared in horror at her son, who wasn’t moving whatsoever. She dialed the number for an ambulance and spoke into the phone with hurried, sob-filled words. And less than ten minutes later, an ambulance arrived accompanied by sirens that forced people out of their homes.

One of the paramedics noticed Adrian and knelt down in front of him. “Can you tell us what happened?” she asked and despite being terrified, he nodded. “Dan was in the tree but the branch broke and he fell and hit his head,” Adrian explained and the paramedic nodded while the EMTs loaded Dan onto a stretcher.

After deciding who’d ride in the back, the ambulance sped off towards the hospital. During the ride, a neck brace was put on and Dan’s head was slightly elevated.

”Will he be alright?” Dan’s mum asked and one of the paramedics shrugged. “There’s no way of knowing at the moment, but there is a ninety-five percent chance that he will. However, you must be prepared for some… _complications_.”

Dan’s mum stared in horror. “Complications? What do you mean?” she asked. “Well, for starters: he hit his head. There are a few possibilities. One, memory loss. Two, brain damage. And the third, which is less-long term, a simple concussion. As I said, there’s no way of knowing right now.”

* * *

Days had passed and Dan had woken up exactly once; this was to vomit a clear liquid, but then he drifted back into comatose.

When he finally woke up, he discovered that he was in immense pain. It was so unbearable that he began crying before curling into a ball and screaming. It felt like his head was being split in two, not the best feeling. He couldn’t breathe. Breathing was not a thought in his brain.

Instead, the only thought was, ‘ _Why does my head hurt so badly?_ ’. Various nurses and doctors entered the room, alerted by his screaming, and sedated him. Constant tears poured from his eyes because the pain was excruciating.

”Daniel, you need to stay calm,” one of the doctors noted, a hint of desperation in her voice. “B-But I– I c-can’t. It– hurts,” he said, letting out tiny whimpers. “I know it hurts, but you must stay calm,” she explained. Dan nodded, tears continuing to pour from his eyes.

”O-Okay. Where’s… where’s my mum?” he asked, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of her. “She went home. She’s really worried about you.”

The doctor left, returning moments later with aspirin and water—which Dan was thankful for. “By the way? What am I here for?” he asked when his head had ceased its aching.

The doctor frowned. “You don’t know?” she asked. Dan shook his head. “Nope,” he stated. “That’s what we feared. Well, Daniel, you seem to be suffering from memory loss. Tell me, how much of your life do you remember?”

Dan thought for a moment. “Well, I know that I live in Manchester. I have a younger brother, and my mum and dad. I know that I’m in Year 7, but that’s about it,” he explained and the doctor nodded. “Alright. Thank you,” she said and promptly left the room.

* * *

”Daniel appears to have two forms of amnesia: selective and dissociative. He can remember some things, but not everything unfortunately. I’m sorry to say that as of now, there’s no way to get his previous memories back,” the doctor explained and Dan’s parents frowned.

”Well, how much does he remember?” Dan’s mum asked. “He knows where he lives, what year of school he’s in and the members of his immediate family. Other than that, nothing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to speak with Daniel alone.”

Dan’s parents nodded and left the room. Dan sat in the hospital bed, reading one of the many brochures that sat on his lap. The current one was about the many cancers someone could have.

The doctor sat on the edge of the hospital bed and Dan turned to her, wincing at the sharp pain that came with turning his head. “You don’t think you have cancer, do you?” she asked in a joking manner and Dan shook his head. “No, it’s just interesting how there are so many types of cancer and somebody could have any one of them,” he said softly.

”Mhm. Anyways, I wanted to talk to you, mostly about the precautions you should take.”

Dan tilted his head slightly. “Precautions? Like what?” he asked. The doctor put on a small smile. “Well… a limit on the amount of stress you go through should be set. Too much stress could cause the amnesia to worsen and eventually make you not remember anything.”

Dan frowned. “So if I get a boyfriend or make friends I wouldn’t remember them?” he asked, then covered his mouth. “She can’t know,” he whispered to himself. This confused the doctor.

”Who can’t know what?” she asked and Dan shook his head. “Mum can’t know that I like boys,” he said in a low voice and began to shake. “Why can’t she?”

Dan shook his head again. “No, no, no. Can’t say,” he repeated. “Grandma’s the only one who knew and she didn’t care.”

The doctor nodded in understanding. “Alright. I won’t say anything.”

And this time it was Dan’s turn to say thank you.

* * *

As soon as Dan returned home, he was sent up to his and Adrian’s room. The only problem was that he didn’t remember anything about his room or his house in general, just that he shared it with his younger brother. The memories made in that very bedroom were gone and in their place lied a mystery.

When Dan stepped into the unfamiliar room, he attempted to decipher which bed was his own.

Eventually his mum appeared in the doorway. Seeing the confusion sketched across her son’s face, she sighed. “I had no _idea_ how hard this would be,” she said softly before guiding Dan over to the left side of the room. “Love, this is your side of the room. See? You’ve got your Pokémon toys and books and stuff,” his mum coaxed and Dan nodded slowly, walking over to a shelf and picking up a mini Magikarp figurine.

Sensing that she was no longer needed, she left the room and Dan put the Magikarp back down before sitting on his bed. The bedsheets, although unfamiliar, held comfort—something that the hospital bed lacked. And though the doctors were nice and tried their best to make it feel like home, the hospital was anything but. Even his _actual_ house didn’t feel as home-y as it should have (or had previously).

Dan wanted nothing more than to have it feel like it did before the accident, but he knew that it wouldn’t and no amount of physical therapy (which he had to go to twice a week) would ever make anything better or the same.

* * *

Days passed before Dan returned to school, and it was exceptionally difficult to adjust. He didn’t remember anyone, and nobody seemed to grasp that fact (mainly due to idiotic teachers who ‘forgot’ to say anything). This left Dan confused, as well as irritated at the fact that literally no one would listen to him.

The only person who hadn’t harassed him about it was a boy who had brown hair and bright blue eyes. Honestly their only interactions were them meeting eyes, one of them smiling awkwardly and the other returning the same expression. And Dan liked it like that. Even though he was sure he didn’t know who this boy was, he felt like they were slowly becoming sort of friends—despite probably not even talking once.

Dan absolutely wanted to talk to the boy, get to know him if you will, but as he most likely had some sort of brain damage (if that’s what you wanted to call it), he knew that it was obviously out of the question.

All Dan knew about him was that he was on the good-looking side of the attractiveness spectrum. And that he seemed like quite a nice person. At the same time, he had to remind himself that he wasn’t allowed to like boys. His mum had said so, at least a dozen or more separate times. She’d scoff at the idea or sight of a same-sex couple, rambling on about how wrong it was and that they’d burn in the fiery pits of Hell. She told him that if he were to ever get a boyfriend, she’d disown him and leave him out in the streets.

Yeah, not a good idea to tell her he actually looked at boys the way they’d look at a pretty girl.

* * *

He was called down for dinner one night and was welcomed to a plate filled with foods he apparently enjoyed—according to his mum. Dan sat at the table and an awkward, deafening silence filled the room. It was suffocating. The looks he was given by the three others in the room made him want to cower in fear.

”Darling, how do you know he still even likes this?” his father asked, throwing a questioning glance at Dan’s mum. “George, it’s not as if he forgot what he likes to eat,” she said accusingly before turning to Dan, who shrugged.

”I– I don’t–” he choked out. The air was getting impossibly thinner, and Dan felt like he couldn’t breathe. He wanted a way out of this situation, so he stood up and ran out of the house, not caring if it was forty-two degrees out and slightly cold. He just kept running until he eventually tripped over a loose stone and fell on his face.

It didn’t hurt as bad as the awful headache he’d experienced after the accident, but it hurt bad enough to elicit a reaction. Dan wanted to cry, but he couldn’t; instead, he held back the sobs and let out shaky breaths.

Why did everything bad have to happen to _him_? All of the pain, sorrow… it was all too much. Why hadn’t the accident killed him? It’d been his fault in the first place, so it was only natural that his family should be furious and be much better off without him.

So it was decided: he wanted to give his family what they wanted, and that was his death. Oh, how overjoyed they’d be with him gone! Dan couldn’t fathom how good of a feeling it would be, to die.

And die, he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it ends on a depressing note soz
> 
> n e ways i’m tipsy but i wanted to get this out before midnight. yh
> 
> lemme know what u think i guess


	7. vii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone from Dan’s past re-enters his life and he doesn’t know how to feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo! the plot is FINALLY starting to come into fruition. this means that we’re starting to get into the true angst.
> 
> also this takes place like a week(?) after ch5, so yh

There was a point in my life where I felt somewhat happy, and that was with Jesse. After he moved to France, I just… I don’t know. I guess the only happiness I had just… disappeared.

But with Phil, some of that happiness sort of returned. I think I feel happy again, but not as happy as I (probably) used to feel. I don’t know if I was happy before the accident. I only know bits and pieces of my past.

It’s been about a week since Phil found out that I was the one who fell out of the tree, and that I have both selective… _and_ dissociative amnesia. It’s a hassle, really, now that he knows. Now, he not only worries about me all the time, but he’s _also_ started researching them.

”Phil, I’ve told you dozens of times: stop worrying about me. I’m fine. In fact, I don’t care about my old memories. I can make new ones,” I tell him as he’s helping me pack an overnight bag.

My mum is skeptical of him. She must realize how attracted I am to him, so she always gives him the side-eye and glares at me. It’s embarrassing, to say the least. What if she says something to him? What if he decides that I’m too much to handle because of how she looks at him?

An analogy: Phil is to an ant, as my mum is a kid with a magnifying glass. She already hates him, even though I just introduced him.

” _Oh_ , Kathryn’s youngest,” she said through gritted teeth when he first came over, a smile glued to her lips in faux-joy.

”Mum, I was just wondering if I– if I could stay over at his house tonight?” I asked, dread settling as I knew she’d say no. Church, God, The Bible, etcetera. It’s so important. Yada, yada, yada.

”Daniel, did you forget what tomorrow is?” mum asked, the same smile still stuck to her face.

“N-No, of course not. Tomorrow’s Sunday.”

”Correct. And you’re spending the night with someone of the same sex. What does The Bible say about sleeping in bed with someone like you?” she asked and I could feel my mouth becoming dry. “I, uh… thou shalt not commit adultery.”

”Correct, again.”

I screamed internally, and I watched as Phil began to read my face.

”Mrs Howell? My family has a guest bedroom that’s been empty since my older brother left for University. He would be sleeping in the extra bedroom. No adultery will be committed whilst he’s over… _if_ you let him stay.”

My mum smiled at this and now, here we are in mine and Adrian’s bedroom. Silently filling a small backpack with clothing, my toothbrush and toothpaste—it’s _too_ silent. I hate when it’s quiet. It’s as if something bad’s going to happen. Ominous, the quiet is, and as the band Twenty One Pilots say: quiet is violet.

When the packing has finished, I stand, still silent, with the bag on my back.

Phil’s the first to speak, and his voice is filled with concern. “Your mum seems very… I don’t know,  _ strict _ ? If that’s the word I want,” he says. “She hates me, and doesn’t like you,” I tell him. “I can tell she doesn’t like me,” he replies.

“You’re like an ant, and she’s like a child with a magnifying glass, just waiting for you to burn.”

That’s a nice way to put it, even if I’d come up with the analogy.

“Do you love her?” Phil asks and I shrugged. “I might’ve in the past, but now… I’m not so sure,” I tell him. It’s true; I  _ don’t  _ know if I still love her—or my dad. My brother’s the only person in my family I truly still care about. He’s the only one in my family who cares about me, so it’s only natural that he’s the only one  _ I  _ care about.

I tell this to Phil once we leave my house, and he nods in understanding. “I wish I could say that I know how you feel, but as my family is more-or-less  _ okay _ , I can’t say that I do. Sorry,” he says and I shrug. “As soon as I graduate, I’ll probably go to Uni for something that’ll keep me busy and away from them,” I say, then decide to play it up more. “I’ll probably even get a job, just to pay for my brother to visit. He knows the situation, so he can say he’s staying with a friend for the weekend,” I continue.

Phil nods. “Probably the best idea,” he says. Oh, how will I ever tell him that I won’t ever make it that far? I don’t think I  _ will _ be able to.

I nod. “Most likely,” I tell him, putting my bag on the floor and sitting on his bed.

The silence returns. I hate it.

“By the way, mum doesn’t let anyone in Martyn’s bedroom—in case he randomly shows up and decides to sleep here. So you’ll be sleeping in my room, despite what I told your mum.”

So he lied.

_ Liars go to Hell, Daniel _ .  _ Lying is a sin, Daniel. _

I shake my head, desperate to rid my brain of my mother’s words. Her sickly sweet voice, which threatens my existence. I hate it I hate it  _ I hate it _ .

“Dan, are you alright?” Phil asks, halting my thoughts, and my eyes drift over to him. “Hm?”

He sighs. “I can see that you’re not,” he says and I shake my head. “No, no. I’m okay. Just lost in thought…  _ as always _ ,” I tell him and he shrugs. I don’t think he believes me. I wouldn’t believe me either.

* * *

School is awful, but you already knew that. It’s always been awful, and it was probably awful before the accident. Was it even an accident? Can’t I just put it in quotes? Like, I was being stupid. Mum had told me not to climb it, according to her. The last time it was brought up, she yelled at me, then slapped me in the face for being so idiotic. Maybe  _ that _ is why she hates me so much—because of how stupid it was. In a way, it’s my own fault that I lost a massive part of my memory. In my head, it’s half-ass vacant. Some of it’s there, and some of it isn’t. How am I supposed to know what’s left if I don’t know what was there to begin with?

I don’t like school. I don’t like that most of the people here will never know who I am, what my life at home is like, my past or my future. Hell,  _ I  _ don’t even know my future—or that I’ll even have one. My brain is fucked up, especially the part that releases the hormone to make you happy. Seratonin, is it? My brain seems to lack seratonin.

Who am I? That’s a question that comes up a lot. I don’t know who I am, metaphorically. Literally: I am Daniel James Howell, age seventeen. I have both selective and dissociative amnesia. I’m gay, and severely depressed. I don’t take medication for it, though I should. I know French too, but not a lot. I also know that je suis amoureux de Phil Lester, but I can’t tell him (that was my admission of being in love with Phil, by the way).

I sit in maths class and today, Phil’s sat in the desk in front of the one to my right. It’s his normal assigned seat, but he likes to switch it up. Sometimes he sits two desks over (to the left); other times, he sits in his assigned seat. There’s someone new in the other seat, so he’s forced to sit in his assigned seat.

I scribble something onto a piece of paper and fold it up before throwing it at Phil. He picks it up and unfolds it, then replies to my message and slides it back to me via the floor.

_ Not that I know of. He seems very odd, I think. They say he’s a transfer from Versailles.  _

I write down another few words and return the paper to Phil. He picks it up, unfolds it, then puts it under his textbook.

The bell rings and I follow Phil out of the room. As we walk, someone taps me on the shoulder.

“Excuse me?” the voice says. It belongs to a male. I turn around, and the breath I’m about to take stops at the back of my throat. I try to speak, but the words don’t want to leave my tongue.

Finally, I cough, which allows the words to form and my breathing to return to normal. “Yes?” I ask, and it comes out in a squeak. What the fuck Dan, why can’t you act normal? “Do you know where this room is?” he asks, showing me his timetables. I take the paper with trembling hands and look it over. “O-Of course, it’s right there,” I say, pointing to a room adjacent to the room we’ve just come out of. “Je vous remercie beaucoup,” he says and I nod. “No problem.”

Fuck it, I’ll ask. If it’s not him, then no harm done.

“Oh, by the way… is your name  _ Jesse _ by any chance?” I ask. “Yes, why?”

I shrug. “No reason,” I say. Something must’ve clicked, because his eyes widen. “Dan?” he say and I smile awkwardly.

“Surprise?”

* * *

“Dan, he seems like trouble.”

I scoff. “What are you on about? Jesse wouldn’t even hurt a fly.  _ That’s  _ how harmless he is, Phil,” I say and he rolls his eyes. “He looks like a bad boy, Dan.”

“And what? You’re so  _ perfect _ ? Phil, you don’t even  _ know _ him,” I say. Why am I saying these things?  _ I _ don’t even know him that well.

“And  _ you _ do?” Phil spits back and I wince. “A whole hell of a lot better than you do,” I return.

Then he says something I never want to hear anyone say ever again, and it makes me hate myself even more.

“You know,” he begins, and the tone of his voice makes me want to vomit. “I finally understand why your mum hates you.”

I slam my locker door shut, and the sound makes my ears ring. I never thought I’d have to add Phil to the list of people who hate me, but his name has appeared in permanent ink.

I walk away from him, but I want him to come after me. To apologise, even—but I don’t think it’ll happen. It doesn’t. And I feel my heart deflate.

I walk into the bathroom and step into a stall before closing the door and sitting with my back against it. I can feel myself letting out choked cries of defeat, and I can feel my entire body start to shake. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Jesse wasn’t supposed to come back, and I wasn’t supposed to love him.

The thing is, I’m still in love with Phil (for some strange reason; I cannot possibly find any positive outcome in this) and I doubt I’ll ever  _ not  _ be in love with him.

But then there’s Jesse, my first ever legit, non-infatuation-oriented crush. And now, my boyfriend. Not how  _ any  _ of this was supposed to go.

Phil’s anger is unreasonable. It’s not  _ my  _ fault Jesse told me he loved me, and asked me out. I just said yes. How is that  _ my  _ fault?

Ugh, this is complicated.

After my crying session, I exit the bathroom and unexpectedly bump into Jesse. “Hey, Dan–  _ oh _ , you were crying. What happened, mon amour?” he asks and I shake my head, wiping my eyes. “Nothing happened, I promise. I always cry in the bathroom. It’s like… a form of meditation. Crying daily helps relieve stress,  _ and  _ it helps clear your skin up. A two-in-one self-help thing, you know,” I tell him.

He narrows his eyes. “You’re lying. This is about what happened with Phil, isn’t it?” he asks. “What– no! Everything’s fine between us. Tu me crois, n'est-ce pas?” I say, hoping the French will make him do so. “No, not really. I think you should stay away from Phil. He seems to make you cry a  _ lot _ ,” Jesse decides.

Despite wanting to argue that I can’t because of a project, I nod.

“Alright.”

* * *

I don’t like the way he kisses me. Normally, you’re supposed to want a kiss to be infinite. You’re not supposed to want it to be over before it even starts. With Jesse, I’d rather he didn’t kiss me. It makes me uncomfortable, and I don’t want it to be infinite.

He may have been my first kiss, but… I don’t know. I don’t think that’s how it works. It’s all wrong. Everything’s wrong, and I just want it to  _ not _ be wrong.

I cannot express my uncomfortableness around Jesse; I don’t want to offend him. He tries  _ so  _ hard to do nice things for me, but I just don’t want him to kiss me anymore.

It’s February, which means Valentine’s Day is nearing. I’ve always had negative feelings regarding the holiday, and even though I have some sort of significant other now, I still despise it. I’d rather hide in my room and search the internet for people who hate the day as much as I do.

Does my hatred have something to do with my mother and her insisting that I get a girlfriend in order to not spend the holiday alone? Most likely. Speaking of, the house is covered in decorations, and there’s a sign on my door that reads:  _ Even Sinners Deserve Love! Happy Valentine’s Day Daniel! _

This is my punishment. An awful, hellscape of endless punishment.

No, my punishment is Phil hating me—which feels like a stab in the back every single time I think about it.

When Jesse told me to stay away from Phil, I wanted so badly to tell him that Phil hates me now; but that would mean telling him about everything else in my life, and Phil’s opinion of him. Nope, not going to happen

Wait, he can know once I’m dead. When that’ll be… I have absolutely no idea. Probably in the  _ very _ near future, depending on how much more fucked up my mental health becomes. It’s already fucked, so I’ve no idea how much worse it can get, to be honest.

“I love you,” he tells me in between kisses, and I nod. “Love you too,” I tell him. I mean it, I really do, but I can’t tell him that I do when he’s kissing me like  _ this _ .

He breaks the kiss as the door’s opened by my mum. “Oh, hello Jesse. I didn’t know you were here. Are you staying for lunch?” she asks and he shakes his head. “No ma’am, I was just leaving,” he says, standing up and brushing himself off. “Bye Dan, see you tomorrow,” he says before exiting through the door. I know what he means. Daily kissing sessions, which have gone on for about a week.

Which mean two weeks of Phil and I not speaking. Yes, I’ve been counting, and the number of days just keep increasing. I wish they would decrease, but that won’t happen before I’m dead. Or under comatose because I’ll fuck it up. I fuck everything else up, why not fuck up my own death as well?

I watch as my mother gives me a death glare before she leaves. She knows, but will she say anything? Not to Jesse, because she wants her image as a loving mother to stay intact. One wrong move, or death glare to anyone but me will result in her being painted as anything  _ but  _ loving and caring towards both of her children. And god forbid  _ that _ happen.

I wish someone other than Jesse would talk to me. Ever since we started dating, every single one of my friends have slowly drifted away. They’re either busy, sick or asleep. They’ve had someone new sitting at the table in the cafeteria as well, just so they don’t have to hang out with me.

Is this what abandonment feels like? Because I’m pretty sure I’m being abandoned. Jesse tells me not to worry, because he loves me, but I can’t help it.

I just wish it would stop hurting when I see them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a very weird chapter, and i’m not proud of it tbh. chapter 8 is prewritten and should be out sometime at a later point idk when, but yh. jesse will be in this one, & chapter 8 & 9\. after that, he’ll only be mentioned.
> 
> see u in the next one!


	8. vii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan goes to Shane’s house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shane’s easily my favorite character in the book lolol

My loneliness is not supposed to exist. I’m not supposed to feel alone even when I’m in a relationship, and the relationship is not supposed to be suffocating—but it is, and I am. I say something about the loneliness but not the suffocation, and Jesse always tells me the same thing; that it’s fine, and that he loves me.

We’ve been together for an entire month, and it feels like the longest and most exhausting month of my life. Is that due to Jesse’s sudden need for sexual activity? Most likely.

Yes, he wants sex. Do I? I don’t know. Probably not right now, anyways. A month-long relationship is not long enough for sex, nor is two months.

Ugh, even the  _ idea  _ of doing it with him this soon (or at all) disgusts me. It’s not like I’m against doing it with anyone, just… not with Jesse. Not right now.

He seems okay with my decision, but there seems to be some resistance to his seemingly okay facade—as if he  _ isn’t  _ okay with it. As if my decision bothers him.

I sigh as I tap my pencil against the desk lightly. English class used to be enjoyable. Now it’s just like before. Phil and I aren’t speaking, and I feel alone. Except now, I can’t have an annoying crush on him, because I’m in a relationship.

The only issue with my relationship (other than the obvious ones) is that Jesse doesn’t seem to notice anything. Like Phil, he’s completely oblivious. But unlike Phil, I can’t talk to him about my problems. My head is all  _ wrong _ yet I can’t tell him how wrong it is. So I put up a false pretense, and pretend that everything up here is fine.

I hear the bell ring, and absentmindedly exit the room behind everyone else. I’m half-expecting Shane to walk over to me, or Chris and Pj, just to ask if I’m okay. Hell, I’m even expecting Phil to say something. But it never happens, and I hate it.

Jesse walks over to me and grasps my hand in his own. I smile softly before frowning.

“What’s wrong?” he asks and I shake my head. “Nothing. I’m fine. I’m just…  _ tired _ . My sleeping schedule’s been off lately, so I’ve been getting practically zero hours of sleep,” I say. I hope it’s convincing, since it’s the truth. He shrugs, which means it was convincing enough. Why do I feel perfectly fine with not telling him the full truth?

Because he’ll hate me. If he hates me, it could end two ways. One, it would leave me completely alone. Two, things would go back to normal. Actually, Jesse hating me wouldn’t be so bad. Yet it would be awful.

I walk into the bathroom and he follows me, but he shoves me lightly into a stall and closes the door behind us before his lips are on my own. My mind is numb, and until his hand starts to move lower, I’m completely frozen. When the palm of his hand comes in contact with my crotch, I flinch.

“Jesse, please don’t,” I say softly, almost whispering, and his movements halt. “I’m sorry, I just… not ready. Sorry,” I apologise. He says nothing and leaves the stall, and I watch as he exits the bathroom. Is he pissed at me? Does my resistance make me a bad boyfriend?

I let out a shaky sigh before I leave the bathroom, and stand against the wall before sliding down it and sitting on the floor. I hide my face in my knees and let out a single silent sob. What the fuck is wrong with me?

I flinch as I hear someone sit next to me.

“Dan, are you alright?”

Shane.

I hum in response. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why do you ask?” I say nonchalantly. “Because you’re crying,” he tells me. “I am? I had no idea,” I say, sarcasm leaking through my voice.

“Dan, will you look at me for five seconds?” Shane asks and I scoff. “Why should I? You’ve been a dick,” I say and he sighs. “Yeah, I know, and I feel like absolute shit because of it,” he says and I exhale sharply. “You should.”

Shane sighs. “You deserve better than Jesse, you know. You don’t deserve the way he treats you,” he says and I shrug. “I’m fine. My relationship is fine. Jesse loves me—it’s all he tells me,” I say, but my words feel foreign to me, as if I’m not the one speaking them.

“Do  _ you _ love him?”

My throat is suddenly like the Sahara desert. “Yes,” I tell him. It feels like a lie, even though it’s not. Even though I hate the way he kisses me, and how he wants sex, I love him. I might be crazy for this, but oh well.

“I can’t tell if you’re lying or not, but I’m going to assume you’re telling the truth. Now, come on. Stand up. You’re coming to mine, since my mum and sister miss you,” Shane says and I nod, standing up. He laughs softly before wiping my eyes with his sleeve. 

Fun fact: If I weren’t dating Jesse, or if I didn’t still (unfortunately) have a crush on Phil, or if Shane weren’t straight, we’d probably be dating. He’s been my best friend for such a long time, even before I was an idiot and fell out of a tree, and I think he’ll be my best friend for the rest of my (short) life.

Even though he’s my best friend, there are many things I can’t tell him. Like how I’m going to kill myself, or the full extent of how my mother treats me. He’s suspicious of the latter, but completely oblivious of the former.

I follow him to his car, and watch as he looks at me to make sure I’m following. I get in the passenger seat and close the door. Due to my suicidal ideations, I purposefully forget to fasten my seatbelt. It’s not just in Shane’s car, but in any car. Or anywhere else.

Suicidal intention is the cause of me purposely not looking both ways when I cross the street, or  _ magically  _ slicing deeper when I use an awful razor blade purchased at a Poundland or something. It’s blunt now, which makes it hurt much more. I like watching the blood leave my arm. It’s a pretty dark crimson colour, and I usually have to spend loads of time cleaning it off of my arm. Can’t let mum know. I have no idea what she’d say, or do.

My guess is simple: not a damn thing. If her baby boy  _ Adrian  _ did what I do, or thought what I think, literal Hell would unleash. She’d call someone from the FBI, even though I doubt they have any jurisdiction over here. It’s an American thing.

I can only imagine her crying and screaming. She freaks out when Adrian gets a scrape, so I dunno why she let him play football.

Shane pulls into his driveway and we get out. I follow him inside and we’re greeted by his little sister, Lilith. She squeals when she sees me and runs over to me before wrapping her arms around me as tight as she can. For a ten-year old, she had the strength of a man on steroids. “Dan! You haven’t been here in literally  _ forever _ !” she says and I chuckle. Shane’s family have been better and more caring towards me than my own (save for Adrian).

“Lil, give him some space. He didn’t come over to be crushed by you,” Shane tells her and she lets me go. “Party pooper,” she pouts and goes upstairs, presumably to her bedroom.

“Mum! Dan’s here!” Shane calls and his mum (who’s called Ellie) yells back that she’s in the kitchen. I follow Shane to where she’s at and I’m immediately pulled into a hug. Another good thing about Ellie is that she knows  _ exactly _ when I need a hug—or cookies. She also knows all of my favorite foods, and can always get my mum to let me stay over, even if it’s a school night.

“How’ve you been?” she asks and I shrug. “Could be better, but I’m fine,” I tell her. “Dan got a boyfriend,” Shane says and Ellie raises a brow. “Does your mum know?” she asks and I shrug. “She suspects, but if I were to tell her, she would literally kill me. My funeral would be tomorrow if I told her,” I say, frowning.

Ellie purses her lips. “Shane, love, could you give Dan and myself a bit of privacy? I’d like to speak with him,” she says and Shane nods before leaving. I hear him going upstairs shortly after. Ellie beckons me to follow her and we sit at the dining table, then she grabs my hands in her own.

“May I ask you something? You don’t have to tell me the truth if you don’t want to, but it would be helpful if you did. Dan, does your mother’s behavior cause you to have  _ bad  _ thoughts?” she asks.

There’s an awfully long pause. It’s not that I don’t want to be  _ honest _ , I just don’t want to be honest with Ellie. If I say yes, it could end with me in the hospital. If I say no, I’ll feel awful for lying. So I could easily meet in the middle.

“It used to, but not anymore,” I tell her. It’s not fully a lie, but it’s not the absolute truth either. It’s a sort of middle ground. Ellie smiles softly, but there’s a strange emotion in her gaze. She doesn’t believe me, but won’t say anything.

She calls Shane back down and moments later he comes jogging into the kitchen. Gross, exercise. Why do a majority of my friends exercise? And why does Shane like to jog everywhere? “Shane, this house is not a gym. There’s no need to jog,” Ellie says and I stifle my laughter. “Just because  _ you  _ don’t exercise doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to,” he says.

“As a matter of fact, I  _ do _ indulge in physical activity.”

Shane scoffs. “Yoga and pilâtes don’t count,” he says matter-of-factly. “I also run on a treadmill, thank you very much,” Ellie says. “The house is still no place to jog.”

“But what if there’s someone trying to kill me?”

Ellie shrugs. “Not my problem. Do your running to avoid him or her  _ outside _ ,” she tells him and he groans. “ _ Fine _ .”

“Oh, Dan, would you care for a hot or cold beverage and cookies? I just made some cookies yesterday, and there’s tea in the refrigerator,” Ellie says and I nod. “That’d be great. Thank you, Ellie,” I tell her and she nods, standing and walking away. She returns moments later with a glass of iced tea and a plate of cookies in her hands. Shane grabs one and takes a bite just as his mum slaps him. “Shane Adam Collins! Ask before you go and grab one,” she lectures.

“ _ Mum _ , may I please have another cookie when I’m done with this one?” he asks through a mouthful of cookie. “I don’t know, ask Dan. They’re his, after all.”

Shane looks at me and I shrug. “I doubt I’ll even be able to finish them by myself,” I tell him, handing him another. “See, this is why you’re my best friend  _ and _ my favorite person,” he tells me and I laugh. “I feel important,” I say. “It’s how you should feel all the time, not just right now,” Shane says and Ellie nods in agreement.

“Well mum, Dan and I are going up to my room–” Shane grabs the plate of cookies, “–and  _ these  _ are coming with us.”

Ellie narrows her eyes just as Shane pulls me out of the dining chair. “You’d better bring that plate down when you’re done with it! And Dan, would you like to stay the night since you’re already here?” she calls. “Yeah!” I call back.

When we walk past Shane’s open bedroom door, he closes it and I sit in one of the beanbag chairs he has. Shane’s room is very chill and looks more like a teenage boy lives in it. There are band posters on the walls, magazines with girls wearing bikinis on the covers half-hidden under the bed and a laundry basket overflowing with clothes. His room is both my favorite and least-favorite place to be. Even though there’s a mess, it smells of fresh linen thanks to Ellie.

“Literally every single time I’m here, there’s a mess,” I comment and he shrugs. “Hey, the clothes in the basket are  _ clean  _ this time,” he says defensively. “Hey, I’ve got an idea: put them away,” I tell him. “It’s more fun to watch you complain about it,” he says as he picks up a t-shirt from the basket. It’s inside-out.

“Hmm, a band shirt,” Shane says before fixing it. “Ah, yes, my favorite band,” he continues. “Te Rames,” I read off and burst out laughing. “It’s supposed to say The Ramones, but the seller on eBay had it forever before I bought it,” he says. I can see faded tour dates on the back. From the first tour. “And I’m guessing you  _ like  _ worn t-shirts?”

“Apparently so, especially if they’re from a tour a band I like did. Anyways, you have no room to talk,” Shane tells me, sorting through a drawer and retrieving a t-shirt that looks fairly worn. “Seeing as you’re the one who likes the band Mue,” he says, tossing the shirt at my head. I turn it so I can see the front. Low and behold, the  _ S  _ in  _ MUSE  _ is nearly gone. I toss it back to him.

“Mum thinks Muse are a Satanic band. She’d burn it if she saw it,” I tell him and he nods. “I know. That’s why it stays here, remember? Along with the My Chem and Fall Out Boy shirts,” he says. “Obviously. Mum has a Sharpie still in the packaging, and she’s just  _ waiting  _ for me to do something sinful so she can write the word  _ SINNER  _ on my forehead in big capital letters.”

Shane sits on the carpet. “Speaking of… has Phil decided to speak to you yet?” he asks and I shake my head. “No,” I say, and there’s a lump at the back of my throat, just waiting for me to say the thing that’ll make me cry. “I never understood why you two stopped talking,” he says.

“Because… because he– he said Jesse seemed like trouble. We argued, I told Phil I knew Jesse a lot better than he did and he–”

The tears start falling faster than I want them to, and I pull my knees to my chest. “Oh god, it made me ill. I never want anyone to say that ever again, and I never thought I’d hear  _ Phil _ of all people say it. Why did I have to fuck it up? Why’d I have to say yes? Shane, tell me what I’m doing wrong,” I say, but it sounds like I’m babbling.

“And the worst part is that I’m still hopelessly in  _ love  _ with him, for fucks sake, even after he said that. Why me?”

Shane’s at my side before I have a chance to react and his arms are wrapped around me. “What did he say? Dan, what did he say? I swear, I’ll– no, never mind,” he says and I let out a sigh that makes me nauseous. “He told me that he finally understood why my mum hates me. My ears are still ringing from how hard I slammed my locker door. I can’t believe he said that, even after I told him about what happened,” I continue to cry.

An epiphany strikes me. “Wait, was he only nice because he pitied me? Is that why you’ve not left? You pity me, don’t you?” I ask and Shane shakes his head. “Dan, you’ve been my best friend since Primary School. I’m not going to abandon you, I promise. Even when you’re six-feet under in like, eighty years, I’ll visit you every day until I’m there with you,” he says and I nod.

“Do you really think I’ll live that long?” I ask and he shrugs. “No idea, to be fair. Just like I don’t know if I’ll live that long. Mum won’t let me run in the house to get away from a murderer, so I’ll probably die then,” he says and I laugh. “No, the murderer’ll die from boredom wondering how long you’ll take to get outside,” I tell him.

“Hey, at least mum won’t have to clean the blood up. She always tells me that I’m not allowed to die in the house because she doesn’t want to clean it up.”

“Speaking of mums, I wonder how mine’s taking to me staying the night,” I wonder aloud. “Probably like she usually does. A lot of arguing with mine, then ultimately giving in,” Shane decides.

As if on cue, Ellie knocks on the door and opens it. “Good news and bad news. Good news is that you can stay. Bad news is that she doesn’t want to see you until next Monday because you’re, and I quote, ‘a filthy sinner’. She also used a very explicit f-word that I’ll not repeat. She’s also dropping off clothes, and a laptop,” she says.

“Okay, thank you Ellie,” I say and she nods before leaving the room. She doesn’t close the door, which causes Shane to belt out the chorus to  _ I Write Sins Not Tragedies _ . “Whoops!” she exclaims with a smirk before promptly closing the door.

“So, what do you suppose we do for a week and a half?” Shane asks and I shrug. “Dunno. Call of Duty?” I suggest and he nods. “Of course.”

“Hope you know I’m gonna kick your ass,” I tell him and he shrugs. “I’ve been practicing since the last time we played together,” he says. “Yeah, practicing to  _ lose _ ,” I joke.

When it comes to first-person shooter games like Halo and Call of Duty, I’m what you would call a pro—or at least, that’s what I tell myself. I’ve beaten everyone I’ve played a game with at said game. It’s not as if I even try, to be honest. I’m what you’d consider to be a ‘button masher’. I mash buttons like my life depends on it, and my finger stays on the trigger whenever possible. AKA, a win every time.

“You underestimate my knowledge of your technique, Daniel. I see you mashing buttons,” Shane tells me and I scoff, placing my hand over my chest in faux-surprise. “How dare you accuse me of being a button masher!” I exclaim. Shane stifles a laugh. “There’s even a  _ name _ for it?” he says and I nod. “Of course. It’s a Twitter and Tumblr thing, so you wouldn’t know about it,” I say. 

“Oi! I tend to get on Twitter sometimes, but Tumblr… Tumblr scares me. I tried to join, but someone posted about being at war with a pigeon, so I logged out and never logged back in.”

Just then, Ellie entered the room with my clothes and laptop. She puts everything on Shane’s bed without so much as a word, and exits promptly. 

“So, Dan? Call of Duty?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i go mt a new phone so expect updates to be more frequent :)


	9. ix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan’s life has hit an all-time low.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a warning i guess? this chapter includes implications of sexual assault and cheating. basically this is the chapter where dan begins to lose the will to live, if that makes any sense.

Why does everything in my life like to go to shit on a Tuesday?

First, my mum essentially told me she was done with me. That was Monday as soon as I got home. She told me that she knew about my new  _ boy toy _ , and that she was done with me because I’m a, and I quote, ‘disgusting, worthless  _ faggot _ who doesn’t listen to his mother and is going to Hell because I’m a sinner and I deserve it’.

Yeah, what a way with words.

Then I got a message from Phil. Why is that bad? Well, because it was only four words. It wasn’t an apology. There was no  _ sorry  _ in the text. It wasn’t ‘I was a dick’. No, it was him telling me that Jesse is cheating. I, of course, don’t believe him. Why would Jesse cheat on me? He’s told me constantly how much he loves me.

Him cheating on me would mean that… that he doesn’t love me anymore. He can’t  _ not  _ love me anymore. I’ve never given him a reason to not love me.

So yeah, Tuesday was awful. It’s Wednesday now, and the first thing Jesse does when I get to school is kiss me. It’s not full-on making out, just a quick, albeit on the lips, kiss.

“Good morning,” I tell him with a smile on my face. “I was at your house the other day to hang out, but your mum said you weren’t home,” he says. “I was staying at Shane’s for a few days. You remember Shane, yeah?”

Jesse nods. “Of course, the one who decided to ignore you.”

I shake my head. “He apologized for being a dick, and we made up. No harm, no foul, right?” I say. His smile is forced as he nods. “Of course. So you’re friends again?”

“Yeah, we’ve always been friends. Friends fight, and best friends make up after if their friendship is strong enough,” I explain and Jesse cocks his head to the side. “ _ Best  _ friend? Daniel, I thought  _ I  _ was your best friend,” he says and I scoff. “First of all, you know I hate being called Daniel. Secondly, you can’t be my best friend. You’re my boyfriend. That’s like… a higher stage of friend. I can’t kiss my best friend; that’d be weird.”

“Girls do it all the time.”

I sigh. “Yes,  _ but  _ most of them aren’t dating their best friend. And if they are–”

“That would be weird, ‘cause lesbians don’t exist,” he interrupts. “They do, actually. Ellen DeGeneres? She is, and there are more.”

Jesse lets out a throaty laugh. “Sure, Daniel,” he says and I sigh, deciding to change the subject. “I have to get to class. See you later?” I say and he nods. “Yeah. Love you,” he tells me, pecking my cheek. “I love you, too.”

I walk the opposite way that Jesse had, and my heart begins to beat very quickly. My brain is practically doing flips, and it’s giving me a headache (that one where the pain sits right behind my eyes). My first instinct is to turn and sprint towards the bathroom.

As I approach the door, I can hear giggling. It’s very sweet, and I kind of want whatever the girl has. She’s probably laughing at whatever her boyfriend’s talking about.

“Don’t worry, he won’t find out.”

“I hope not. Why are you with him anyhow?”

“Don’t worry, sweet thing. A good shag, then I’m  _ all  _ yours.”

My stomach is churning, and I feel ill. That voice, even if at almost a whisper, is so…  _ evil _ . Those words make me want to vomit.

“He seems so sweet. I kinda feel awful for this,” the girl says, a bit louder this time, but her voice is still low. “Adria, like I said: I’ll be a free man as soon as I do what I need to do, I promise.”

I step closer and turn my head to see who’s talking. My heart drops to my stomach when I see Jesse’s brown quiff. I step away and grimace as the taste of vomit hits my tongue.

No no no no no.

I make my way into the bathroom as tears rush down my face, then screw my eyes shut as I fall to the floor and begin pulling at my hair.

This can’t be happening.

The need to vomit is prominent now, so I crawl across the floor and into a stall, not bothering to close it before the contents of my stomach are sat in the toilet. This is so wrong. What’s wrong with me? Did he even love me in the first place?

My head is numb throughout the rest of the day, and I nod when Jesse asks to come over for dinner. What do I say when my mouth is dry and I’d rather bash my head in than go home and have dinner with Jesse?

I get in the passenger seat and he drives me home.

_ Don’t worry, he won’t find out. _

“Mum, you remember Jesse?” I ask and she smiles sweetly. “Of course. Daniel, is he staying for dinner?” she asks.

“Yes,” I tell her blankly. Once again, that sickly sweet smile is back. “Of course. It’s an early dinner, so will you set the table? Your brother is eating dinner later. And Daniel? I’m leaving after dinner, so you and Jesse behave, alright?”

Jesse nods as I zone out. “We will, ma’am,” he says and my mum laughs. “Please, call me Laura,” she tells him.

I set out forks, spoons and knives, then sit down in my usual seat.

_ A good shag, then I’m all yours. _

I resist the urge to pull my hair out as a plate is sat in front of me with chicken, potatoes and corn. “This looks absolutely  _ spectacular _ , Laura. I bet it tastes that way as well,” Jesse says. What a fucking suck up. “Yeah mum, I hope so too,” I say quietly. She sits down with her own plate and bows her head to say a prayer.

When she finishes, we all tuck into the food. “Thank you mum, this is really good,” I tell her and she looks at me, a frown etched into her features as if it’s permanent.

_ I’ll be a free man as soon as I do what I need to do. _

I avoid making eye contact with Jesse as I stand and put my dishes in the sink. He follows suit and I stall by rinsing my plate of the invisible food residue.

I close my eyes for a split second and when I open them, Jesse’s arms are around me. “Sorry, I’m just tired,” I tell him apologetically and he smiles, showing bright white teeth. God, why is he so attractive?

Mum enters the kitchen shortly after and sets her things in the sink. “I’ll be back later. Don’t stay up  _ too  _ long,” she says and I nod, the room beginning to spin slowly as I make my way up to my room with Jesse following.

He closes the door slowly and twists the lock so that I hear a soft click. “D-Do you want to play Halo?” I choke out and he nods. “Of course,” he says and I hand him a controller. I sit on the floor in front of the TV and turn it on whilst my hand shakes.

“Actually, no.”

Before I can react, he’s on top of me and pinning my wrists above my head. “Let’s do Netflix and Chill instead,” he decides.

“We don’t have–”

His lips are on mine and move furiously. It’s not a normal, sweet kiss. It’s feverish and full of lust. I hate it. I hate  _ this _ . I screw my eyes shut as he begins to dry hump me. This isn’t what I want.

I open my mouth to beg him to stop, but he covers it with one hand. “I wouldn’t speak or scream if I were you. Got it?” he asks and I nod. “That’s a good boy,” he says, grinning, before unbuttoning my jeans. Hopefully I wear tight enough jeans for him to not do this.

I attempt to move my legs so I can stop him and he glares at me. “I can easily kill you,” he says and to prove a point, he retrieves a Swiss army knife from the pocket of his jacket and flicks it up. I wince and he puts it back.

Unfortunately, my jeans are easily pulled down to my ankles, revealing black boxers. “Fucking hell, do you not wear a different color?” he asks and I shake my head frantically before screwing my eyes shut.

The rest is a blur of pain, and he’s gone when I open my eyes. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, and I scream when I attempt to move enough so I can pull my boxers up. It’s enough to make my throat hurt.

When I can manage to move, I crawl over to my bed and pull myself under it. Here, I cry until I no longer can, and I fall asleep while I’m still crying, hoping that I don’t wake up.

* * *

I don’t go to school the next day, or the day after. I stay in bed, acting as if I have a sunburn when in reality I was assaulted. I hate using the other word, because it’s as dirty and awful as the action itself. I spend the next few days lost in thought, ignoring my mother when she tells me to get up for school. I don’t have the energy, or motivation. When I don’t get up, she scoffs and gives up.

It’s the next Thursday when I go back—over a week after the incident—but my brain is constantly telling me not to, as if that wasn’t the worst thing to ever happen to me. Compared to my stupidity just four years ago, it  _ is  _ the worst thing.

I sit in each class, zoning out and ignoring everything anyone says to me. The only thing on my mind is what happened Wednesday. I can’t stop thinking about it, no matter how hard I try. When I close my eyes, all I can hear is my muffled screaming. My right eye especially hurts, but the swelling’s gone down I think. I refuse to look in a mirror, but I know how I must look. A black eye, bruising on my neck, practically dead.

Long-sleeved shirts are my savior, as they hide both my recent cuts and the singular slice on my arm. When I screamed, Jesse took his stupid knife and sliced my arm to show that he wasn’t kidding about having the ability to kill me.

As I stare into space, unmoving, a hand enters my vision and I blink. “What?” I choke out hoarsely.

“You look  _ and  _ sound like shit,” Shane says and I shake my head. “I’m fine,” I say, brushing it off. “But you have a black eye,” he presses.

“I– I fell,” I lie. More like I was raped, cut and punched in the face. Oh, I also screamed and want to die even more than I used to want to. I mean, I technically _did_ fall onto someone’s fist.

Shane doesn’t buy it. “Has the swelling gone?” he asks, putting two fingers on my eye, and I nod. “We should still get you an ice pack, so the coloring of your skin goes back to normal.”

I nod and let him take me to the school infirmary. The nurse takes one look at me and makes me lie down, and she allows Shane to sit with me.

“Dan, I know you didn’t fall. Please, tell me what really happened,” he says, his voice at almost a whisper. “That  _ is  _ what happened, I swear,” I tell him; my throat burns at the decision to talk.

“I don’t believe you.”

I screw my eyes shut and my brain reacts as if I’ve just told him what happened.

“Why not?” I choke out, fighting the urge to start bawling. “Why don’t you believe me, Shane? What did I ever do to make you  _ not  _ believe anything I say, even when I’m telling you the  _ truth _ ?”

Why am I reacting like this? Why can’t I act calm about the whole thing, and not like a… like an idiot. He’s my best friend, I should be able to tell him… so why can’t I? Humiliation, maybe, at the fact that I was sexually assaulted just eight days ago. Hell, I can’t even tell my own mother, because she’d tell me I most likely deserved it.

Maybe I  _ did  _ deserve it. Maybe I’ve deserved every bad thing to ever happen to me.

Of course. That’s why so many bad things happen to me. Maybe my mum’s right; maybe I  _ am  _ going to Hell when I die. It’s the only logical explanation for why my life’s gone to shit in the past five years. First, my grandmother got sick and died. Second, I was an idiot and nearly broke my own neck, getting two different forms of amnesia in the process. Third, my mum started hating my existence. Fourth, Phil stopped talking to me. And fifth, I was raped. Nothing, and I do mean  _ nothing _ , could be worse. And I’m only seventeen. I shouldn’t be feeling this way. What I  _ should  _ be doing is seeing a therapist.

No, I can’t call them a therapist. I’ll start calling the person to help me a psychiatrist. I can’t– I can’t use the other term.

“Dan, you’ve been zoning out for five minutes. Are you alright?”

“Yes, actually.”

Wow, another lie.

“Just tired.”

A lie? I don’t even know.

“Oh, okay. Hey, you look like you need time away from everything. Elliot’s having a party Sunday. Are you up for it?” Shane asks and I nod. “Mhm, a party sounds fun. What time?”

“I’ll pick you up since I’m going early,” he tells me and I nod. “How is Ellie letting you go?” I ask. “Well, apparently she finds me responsible enough to be home before eleven, and to not drink, so that’s what’s gonna happen,” he says.

“I’ll probably catch a ride with you when you leave. Mum wouldn’t care if I ended up in a ditch, but I can’t since there’s school the next day,” I tell him.

The nurse replaces my ice pack and we head outside. It’s the end of the day, after all.

“Dan!”

I run past Shane and over to his car. Every word Jesse says sounds like venom, as if he’s a snake waiting to strike again and  _ again _ . I hear the click of the lock and I waste no time in opening the door and getting in. There’s a muted confrontation a few metres in front of the car, and I watch as Shane punches Jesse in the face. A crowd of onlookers has gathered just as Shane makes his way to the car. Among the prominent faces, one sticks out to me. It’s Phil, but I can’t tell what the expression on his face is. It’s a blur through my tears.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Shane asks and I shake my head. “Not really, it’s not important,” I tell him.

“Phil’s going to the party,” he says.

Oh.

“And?”

It comes out much harsher than I intend.

“Maybe you can reconcile?” he suggests.

“Doubt it. He hates me. Why would he want to talk to me again?” I ask, my gaze still locked onto Phil. “You never know,” Shane says.

Phil looks my way for a split second before his cheeks go pink and he looks away. “Can we just go?” I ask, changing the subject, and Shane starts the car before pulling out of the lot.

“Why’d you punch him?” I ask.

“He told me he enjoyed Wednesday, and said it was fun watching you…  _ struggle  _ under him. Dan… oh my  _ god _ .”

I want to vomit. Everything is spinning and if I didn’t have a seatbelt on, I would’ve fallen forward as soon as Shane stopped the car.

“Dan?”

I put my head on the dash in front of me and let out a choked sob. My head is spinning, and stomach is doing flips. “What’s wrong with me?” I ask and I feel the car veer off to the side and stop. “Don’t blame yourself, it’s not your fault,” Shane tells me. I jerk my head up to face him. “But it is. I heard that he was cheating, then I got sick and when he asked to come over, I told him yes fully knowing what he wanted to do before breaking up with me.  _ A good shag _ , he said. But that– it wasn’t a good shag. It was so much worse and I can’t breathe and I don’t know what to  _ do _ . I couldn’t leave my room without feeling like I was being stabbed every time I walked, and my mum didn’t even give a shit. She’s done with me, like she said before.”

Then I break down, and cry until I can’t cry anymore. “The worst part is that Phil texted me to tell me he was cheating, and I didn’t believe him. I’m such an idiot,” I whisper, not feeling the need to talk at a normal volume anymore. I feel as if I’ve just confessed everything, even though I haven’t. I’ll never be able to confess it all, even to my best friend. I can’t tell him my biggest secret, and it’s most likely going to crush me for the rest of my life.

After my breakdown, Shane takes me to McDonald’s and gets me food, then drives me home. When he discovers that I’ll be home alone, he stays with me until my mum’s car pulls into the drive.

“Oh, hello Shane. Nice seeing you again,” she says once she walks in. “Nice to see you as well, Laura. I’ll call you later if you want me to,” he says and I nod. “Yeah, okay.”

He waves a swift goodbye before exiting the house.

Mum turns to me and an exasperated sigh exits past her lips as she gazes at me. She doesn’t say anything, and I can’t read her expression. She’s frowning, though, but I can’t tell  _ why _ she is.

Surely it’s not because of my eye.

As I open my mouth to speak, she leaves the room and I can hear her heels clicking against the tile in the kitchen. I sigh before lying sideways on the sofa and turning so I’m facing the back of it. My nose is pressed into the cream-colored suede—I can faintly smell a floral scent when I breathe in even slightly. Rose, maybe, or lavender.

I close my eyes briefly, allowing myself to relax. I feel tense; my shoulders ache and my back hurts. No amount of rolling my shoulder blades with cease the aching, so I sigh in defeat.

I remember when my mum would rub my shoulders if they hurt. I was seven, and felt as if my mum was the only person who could help them. I wish so desperately for the affection she used to give, and I want her to tell me she loves me again like she used to do every day. My life has gone to so much shit that even just one kiss on the cheek from her or a hug would make me feel okay.

But it’s not going to happen, and I don’t think it ever will again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was vvv depressing to write tbh


	10. x

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan attends a party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dan with a stable mental health in this fic? we don’t know her. also this chapter is easily my favorite one i’ve written atm because i dived into how the events of last chapter are affecting him. idk if that makes sense.

I start Sunday with picking at the skin on my arms where there are cuts which haven’t completely healed. Blood seeps out and begins to slowly slide down my arm. I dab at it with a tissue and use ace bandages to wrap each one, then seal them with a safety pin before pulling my sleeves down.

Today’s the day of the party and mum could care less if I go or not. I told her I’m going, and she was like, ‘ _ I don’t care _ ’. To which I sighed before trekking back up to my bedroom. 

Adrian also told me that he might be bisexual.

“Dan, how did you know you liked boys?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. One day, I decided I didn’t find myself attracted to girls. Why?” I ask.

“Because I think I’m the thing where you like both boys and girls. I dunno, there’s a cute boy who sits next to me in Maths, and a cute girl who’s my table-partner in Science,” he says. 

“Don’t tell mum; she’ll squash you if you do,” I advise and he nods. “Alright, thanks Dan,” he says.

Shane picks me up around six, and we head to Elliot’s house. I’ve not been in ages, but the layout isn’t as foreign to me as it should be. I know where the kitchen is, and it holds a handful of people going for some kind of alcohol. Bottles, cans and red solo cups fill the counters.

I pick up a bottle without reading the label and flick the cap off before bringing it to my lips and taking a drink.

Beer. I’ve always hated it, but it’s nice sometimes.

Phil enters the kitchen as I finish the bottle, but doesn’t even glance at me. Shane gives me a look that I can’t decipher, and I shrug as I open another bottle. My goal is to drink enough that I no longer feel like shit.

“Dan, are you sure you want to drink?” Shane asks and I nod. “Mhm. I want to drink until recent events are no longer in my head,” I say and he nods. “Alright, I guess. Hey, if you need me, shoot me a text and I’ll be there.”

He exits the kitchen and my mind lingers on his phrasing. The word  _ shoot _ sticks out, and I decide that it wouldn’t be a bad way to go out. It’d be easy, too. One shot, then I’ll be gone.

One flaw is that neither of my parents own a gun, so that’s out of the question.

My third beer is in my hand as I gravitate out of the kitchen. Even at parties, the bathroom is my safe haven. Elliot has at least four, I think. Or is it five? I don’t know—he’s a rich little shit, and his house is massive.

When I’m up the stairs, my eyes scan the many doors for a bathroom. I’m tipsy, so my knowledge regarding the layout of the house is slowly fading.

I open the first door I come across, and sigh in relief when it’s, in fact, a bathroom. And it’s empty.

I step inside and close the door behind me. I flip a light on and make my way over to the bathtub-shower combo and step in. I pull the shower curtain along the metal rod, grimacing at the sound it makes, and sit down with my knees to my chest.

My chin rests on my knees as my eyes follow the patterns and shapes in front of me. There’re fish sat in front of me, and near the bottom I can see coral and sand and rocks.

I’d like to be a fish, I think. Swimming around all day without a single care in the world. Or a shark. Sharks are cool, and nothing actually bothers them.

Can sharks be gay? People can, and so can lions, so I don’t see why there can’t be gay sharks.

Great, I’m imagining a very flamboyant pink shark that swims as if it’s strutting.

God, I’m so annoying, even to myself. Is this how I’m supposed to feel at a party?

Am I even attending the party, or have I decided to abandon it and sit in the bathroom whilst I try not to think of a recent event?

I should text Shane, but I don’t want to bother him. Do I text  _ Phil _ and ask if he wants to talk, or will I be wasting my time?

I shrug and send him a quick text as I take another drink of the (now warm) beer. He responds with a  _ yes _ , which is surprising, and I tell him where to find me. Moments later he enters the room and I push the shower curtain out of the way.

“Why’re you in the tub?” he asks and I shrug. “Dunno.”

“Heard you and Jesse broke up.”

I flinch when his name is brought up, and bury my face in my knees. “Yeah, we did,” I say, though it’s rather muffled.

Phil doesn’t speak, and I resist the urge to glare at him. Instead, I drink more of the warm alcohol.

“Why’d you want to talk?” is the first thing he’s said in five minutes. “I dunno. Didn’t wanna bother Shane,” I tell him and swallow the rest of the beer. It’s not enough, and the events of last Wednesday are still prominent. It gives me a headache, and the pounding doesn’t cease when I push my head into my knees.

“I’ll be right back. I’m going to get a drink, do you need anything?”

I nod. “Vodka. Elliot’s mum keeps it in the cupboard under the sink,” I tell him and he promptly exits the bathroom, leaving me alone once more. I zone out long enough for Phil to be gone, and only snap out of it when the door opens once more.

Phil holds a can of Coke in one hand and an unopened bottle of Vodka in the other. “I had to ask Shane where it was. He didn’t ask why I wanted it, though, but I suppose he already knew,” he says and I nod. “Yeah, I think so,” I say as my phone buzzes with a text.

_ Be careful. Don’t drink too much. _

I open the bottle and toss the lid aside before taking a long drink. The liquid burns as it goes down, but it’s a nice burn. I feel as if I’m swaying when I put the bottle next to me.

“Do you remember what I told you about me suddenly dying one day? What would you say if I told you it might be tomorrow?” I ask.

“I’d say you were talking gibberish, and take the bottle of vodka away from you before you said anything else about it,” he explains and I nod.

“Gotcha.”

“Are you talking gibberish, or are you actually serious?” he says and I shake my head. “I think gibberish. My brain is just…  _ poof _ . I don’t even know half of what I think or say anymore,” I tell him.

“Have you tried therapy?”

“No, not allowed. Mum doesn’t think anything’s wrong. Maybe I’m delusional, and maybe there’s not anything wrong with me,” I say absentmindedly. For some reason I can’t control half of what I’m saying. It’s just spilling out, like word vomit, except I know  _ exactly  _ what I’m saying. I just can’t  _ not  _ say it.

“But you had a head injury. That’s a good reason to get therapy,” Phil contradicts. “No, I can’t. Then I’ll have to tell everything that’s wrong with me and I don’t want to do that. I’ll get sent somewhere.”

“Somewhere? Like where?”

I screw my eyes shut. “An institution, or worse,” I tell him before I start giggling madly.

“Dan? What’s worse than an institution?” he asks. I take another drink of the vodka before beckoning for him to come closer.

“The morgue, or six-feet under, my dear Philip,” I say with a whisper and more giggling, and his body jerks away in horror.

“I thought you dying tomorrow was gibberish,” he says softly and I nod. “It is! Everything I say is gibberish! Nothing I say or think makes any sense. I’m like a robot, but I still look and operate like a human being. Even now, I’m not sober, but I’m far from being drunk. Just mad,” I explain.

“You don’t need anymore,” Phil says, reaching for the vodka, and I grab it before he has the chance to. “Oh, but I  _ do _ . I have a good reason to drink, Phil, but I cannot say even though it’s eating me  _ alive _ ,” I say, taking another drink of the vodka. The burn is no longer there when I drink it.

“I’m going to go get Shane before you give yourself alcohol poisoning,” he says, ignoring my protests as he exits the bathroom.

No no no no  _ no no no no NO NO NO NO. _

I begin to shake violently, so much so that when I attempt to drink more, it spills all over me. This can’t be happening. Phil has betrayed me again, and is going to make my best friend betray me.

I can hear my heart beat in my ears—loud and unnerving. I can’t stop shaking, no matter how hard I wrap my arms around myself. I feel ill, but also I feel as if I’m fine. But I know that I’m  _ not  _ fine.

Minutes pass, and I continue to shake. Phil hasn’t returned, and Shane hasn’t rushed in to my aide. When I run my fingers through my hair, pieces of it come with my hand. I stare at the strands for what seems like forever until I hear the door open.

I look up, then my gaze returnes to the hair in my hand.

“Shit, what happened?” Shane asks.

“I don’t know. He was talking about everything he thinks and says being gibberish, then that he had to drink to make something go away,” Phil says.

“Dan, you smell like vodka.”

“I tried to drink more and spilled it all over myself. I can’t stop shaking,” I say, holding my hand out to prove a point.

“I’m taking you home.”

I gasp. “I can’t! My mum’ll kill me if I come home and smell like this!” I exclaim. “I’m sure Elliot has a shirt you can borrow,” Shane says before exiting the bathroom.

“I don’t want to go home,” I whisper as he returns with a black shirt. “I wish you could come to my house, but my mum won’t let you in if you reek of alcohol. Sorry,” he says and I sigh. “ _ Okay _ . Can you both leave so I can change?” I ask and they nod before leaving the bathroom, closing the door.

I quickly change into the black long-sleeve which has My Chemical Romance’s _The Black Parade_ album cover on the front. I fold my shirt up and open the door. Shane and Phil are both stood outside, and look at me when I close the door.

“Can you take me home now? I think I want to be alone for a while,” I say and Shane nods. “Yeah, let’s go. Phil, do you–”

Phil shakes his head. “Nah, I’ll have my mum pick me up. Bye Dan, see you tomorrow?” he says and I nod. “Yeah, see you tomorrow. Bye, Phil,” I say and I follow Shane out to his car.

“If you needed someone to talk to, why didn’t you text me?” he asks on the drive back to my house. “I didn’t want to bother you. Besides, you said I should talk to Phil, so I did. He probably thinks I’ve gone absolutely mad now,” I say with a slight smirk.

“I don’t know if I ever want to find out the things you said in that bathroom, but I do know that I’m not letting you drink anymore vodka after tonight,” Shane says.

After tomorrow, I’ll be dead. Do I tell that to Shane, though? Absolutely not.

“Gotcha. No more vodka,” I say and he nods as he pulls into the drive. “Go inside, get some sleep. I’ll be over tomorrow to pick you up, okay?”

I nod. “Yeah, alright. See you tomorrow,” I say as I get out. He waits for me to get inside before he drives off, and I go up to my room and fall face-first onto my bed.

As I fall asleep, I’m certain of two things. One, that I’m going to die tomorrow. And two, that I’ll die without ever confessing to Phil. And oh, what a horrible way to end my own life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was fairly short, but i think i said what i wanted to. yh. kudos are greatly appreciated, comments are as well and all that jazz.


	11. xi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing goes how Dan would like it to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw again. dan’s attempt is featured in the first half.

I let out a shaky sigh as I stare at the nearly-full bottle of possibly-expired medication used to treat severe pain.

_Take one tablet twice a day for severe pain_ , the orange bottle reads, and I laugh dryly at the sheer irony. Sure, it’ll be used to treat pain, but not the type of pain it was made for.

It’s ten minutes until Shane picks me up.

I toss the bottle between my hands, and listen to the sound the pills make as the bottle shakes. They’re a light blue color, and sort of remind me of antidepressants.

Dozens of thoughts race through my mind. Why am I doing this? _Should_ I be doing this? What will everyone think? Can I even swallow the full bottle in six minutes?

I twist the cap off and close my eyes before I pour the entire bottle of pills down my throat.

Nothing happens, which sort of angers me in a way. Why am I not on the floor as my breathing stops?

“Daniel! Shane’s here!”

Shit.

“Coming!” I yell, pulling my shoes on and running downstairs. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m supposed to be dead right now, so why aren’t I?

Tears prick my eyes as I get in the car.

“I’m so tired,” I groan. “And I have the biggest headache, too. But I took some Paracetamol so it should go away soon.”

Shane nods. “Do you feel better after last night?” he asks. “I swear, I barely even remember what happened. It’s like I completely blocked it out,” I say.

“You still sound like shit, I hope you know,” he says and I shrug. “I do? It’s probably because the lack of sleep,” I decide. “I could try to catch a few minutes during first period.”

“Yeah, I’ll even be there to make sure you wake up,” Shane says with a grin and we exit the car.

When I’m at my locker, Phil walks up to me with a grin. “How do you feel?” he asks softly. “Better than I did last night. Honestly, I should’ve let you take the vodka away,” I tell him and he nods in agreement. “Do you want to walk to class together? Catch up on stuff?” he asks and I nod. “Yeah, let me just… get my stuff and we’ll be able to go,” I say.

I feel strangely out of breath as I walk down the corridor with Phil. It’s only slight, so Phil doesn’t seem to notice. But I do, and I can hear my heart pounding in my ears.

We got to first lesson with no problems, and I sit in my seat, grateful for the feeling of something to keep me from falling. Phil’s sat next to me, and Shane’s desk is behind mine.

I inhale and exhale, then let out a choked gasp as I feel extremely lightheaded. It subsides when class begins, but the feeling returns soon after. I raise my hand to be excused, but I’m dismissed. I groan in frustration before standing and beginning to walk towards the classroom door.

“Daniel Howell, sit back–”

I feel my knees buckle and I find myself on the floor as my peripheral vision goes dark. This is it, this is where and how I die.

There are muffled voices around me, rushed, and I hear something about someone calling 999. 

“Dan? Dan, can you hear me?”

The voice sounds as if it’s coming through water.

“Surprise… Phil. It wasn’t… gibberish,” I tell him and let my eyes close before reopening them. I hear sirens and my eyes somehow find Shane. “What did you _do_?” he asks worriedly.

“Lots of… pills. Not enough…” I whisper and close my eyes again. When I reopen them, I’m being wheeled down the corridor and there’s some sort of mask over my nose and mouth.

My breathing is getting more labored, and my heartbeat is slowing down. I just give up, and let a wave of unconsciousness engulf me.

* * *

Phil can’t think. How did Dan think in bathrooms?

“What was he talking about?” Shane questions, continuing to pace.

“I should’ve known something was wrong when he asked how I’d react if someone told me he was dead, then said it would _hypothetically_ be a suicide. Then he said something about it if the bathroom last night. Gibberish, he said. And he mentioned putting himself in a morgue or six-feet under,” Phil says. He looks in the mirror, and his eyes widen when he notices that he’s much paler than when he first woke up.

“But he’s not dead. Just comatose. He can’t be dead. Is it… _my_ fault?” Shane says mostly to himself as he sinks to the floor. Then he glares at Phil. “For all I know, it’s partially _your_ fault,” he accuses.

“ _My_ fault?”

Shane nods. “Yeah, Dan told me what you told him. About how you knew why his mum hates him,” he says, and makes a mental list of who could have possibly contributed to Dan’s attempt.

Phil, himself, Dan’s mum, _The Boy Who Shall Not Be Spoken Of_.

“I can’t believe you said that, even after he… no, I can’t tell you. Dan’s my best friend, so I can’t tell you. I’ll just shut up,” Shane says. If Phil doesn’t know, then it’s not his place to tell. It’s Dan’s… _if_ he wakes up.

The realisation of Dan’s attempt had different reactions from different people. Shane felt numb, then felt everything all at once. Phil didn’t know how to feel. Dan’s mum was hard to read. Was she upset? Yes. Did she want to show how upset he was? No.

Dan’s brother hasn’t been told, but he’ll find out eventually when Dan’s not home.

Visitation is allowed soon after Dan’s admitted. No more than two people in the room at a time, but it’s better than no one being allowed at all, considering his condition.

While Dan’s mum is gone to get a coffee, Shane and Phil slip into the room, unprepared for what they’re about to see.

“Oh god,” Shane whispers as he steps closer to the hospital bed. Dan has a breathing tube in his nose, and other tubes sticking out of his arms. He can see bandages on both of Dan’s arms, and suddenly feels very ill.

“Did you know about this?” Shane asks, turning to Phil. Phil shakes his head. “No, but he obviously did a decent job of hiding it. Long sleeves are the best way to hide self-harm, even if it _is_ rather hot out.”

To prove a point, he fans his face even though the hospital room is much cooler than it is outside. Shane sighs, running his hand through his hair tiredly. “I just wish I would’ve known,” he says softly, kneeling on the floor next to the hospital bed, where Dan lay completely still. If it weren’t for the steady beeping, it would look as if he’s dead.

Shane suddenly gets to his feet and practically runs out of the room, leaving Phil alone. Dan’s mum walks in, holding a coffee, and nearly shrieks when she sees Phil. “What are you doing here?” she asks harshly, wiping her eyes. “I– I wanted to see how he’s doing.”

Dan’s mum is kind of intimidating. She looks very well-put together, with her dark hair pulled into a neat bun and her baby blue nails trimmed to a decent length. When Phil turns to face her, she frowns.

“Oh, it’s you… the _influence_ ,” she comments, and he frowns. Influence? “You’ve influenced him with your queer ways, and now he won’t wake up because the Devil will retrieve him,” she says.

As if the universe senses that he wants out of the conversation, the door opens and in walks a doctor.

“Oh, Laura, nice to see you,” the doctor says, writing something down on her clipboard. “So, I have some things I’d like to discuss with you regarding Daniel’s brain,” she says, ignoring Phil. Whether or not it’s purposefully, he doesn’t know.

“His brain? What’s wrong with his brain?” Laura asks and the doctor frowns. “There’s no easy way to put this: Daniel has gone through large amounts of stress in the past three months, so much so to the point of his amnesia becoming worse,” she says.

“ _How_ worse?”

The doctor clears her throat. “I’m afraid more of his memories will be gone when he wakes up. However, there’s a possibility they may be recovered in due time,” she says.

Laura’s face grows pale. “Which means absolutely no stress is to be put onto him. Let him rest, bring his food up to him, no yelling, no making him do things if he doesn’t want to, et cetera. The less stress he endures, the likelier he’ll be back to normal.”

Dan’s mum nods and the doctor leaves the room. She follows suit and Shane re-enters the room.

“Dan’s mum looks as if she’s seen a ghost. What happened?” he asks. Phil gulps. “The uh… _stress_ that Dan went through is likely going to make a majority of his memory go _poof_ ,” he says, making a gesture with his hand to accentuate his wording. But he will wake up, though. Also, I apparently influenced Dan so now he’s going to Hell.”

Shane shrugs. “Yeah, his mum’s a bit on the homophobic side. She’s probably told every non-straight person they’re going to Hell at some point,” he states. “You’ve just gotta ignore her if you’re going to be friends with Dan.”

Phil frowns. “That’s if he remembers me, and he probably won’t,” he says. “If he doesn’t, you just have to become friends with him again. It won’t be that hard,” Shane tells him and he sighs.

“I hope not.”

* * *

Dan wakes up at some point, screaming, then goes back under. Neither Phil nor Shane had been present, but when they return, they’re surprised to find a new machine hooked to him.

“Daniel woke up for nearly three minutes and screamed, then went back to his original state. The machine has been added to monitor his brain activity whilst he’s under,” the doctor (who’s called Abigail; she was Dan’s doctor when he was thirteen) explains.

“About how long do you think it’ll be ‘til he wakes up?” Phil asks and Abigail shrugs. “Last time, it took less than a week after he first woke up. I’ll give it five days, give or take one or two,” she says and he nods.

Phil watches Dan as he sits in a blue plastic chair, silently wondering what happens when someone’s in a coma. What’s going through Dan’s mind? Is there anything going through it, or is it like an empty black hole?

He also wonders what it’s like after someone attempts. He knows that he never wants to figure it out for himself, but would like to know. Does the person resent whoever saved them? Or are they grateful that they get another chance to live?

Phil tries to remember what Dan’s expression was. He couldn’t for the life of him picture what was going on in his eyes, but he probably hated whoever called an ambulance.

Phil moves the chair closer to the hospital bed as he continues to stare at Dan.

“Why’d you do it?” he whispers. “You said you were fine. Why did I believe you?”

Tears prick at his eyes and he blinks them away. They slide down his cheeks and onto the white sheets of the hospital bed. “I wish you would’ve said something. If not to me or your mum, then to Shane. He’s so worried about you. He doesn’t show it, but this is hurting him a ton,” he says.

Both Phil and Shane have been at the hospital a lot since last Monday. It’s now Wednesday, and Phil’s barely slept. He keeps thinking about what Shane told him. He knows he was an idiot. Scratch that, he _is_ an idiot. He could’ve talked to Dan any time he liked. Maybe this could’ve been avoided if he hadn’t’ve technically decided that Dan wasn’t worth speaking to. That he was better off without him.

And now, Dan will most likely react weirdly whenever he wakes up because he won’t know who Phil is. And that hurts worse than anything that will ever happen to him.

* * *

Dan wakes up screaming yet again, and it takes being sedated to calm him down. But he’s fully awake and has no clue where he is, or what year it is. His name is unfamiliar and the bandaging on his arms is unfamiliar. So he begins to zone out, unsure of how to react in this situation.

Suddenly he feels sick, and vomits into a bedpan that’s sat next to him.

When two people enter the room, he stares blankly at them, trying to remember if he knows either of them. One of them is wearing a white coat, and the other has red around his eyes.

“Uh…” he tries, but is incapable of saying anything else.

“Daniel, my name is Doctor Abigail Wilson. Do you remember anything about yourself?”

Dan shakes his head and he watches as the boy frowns. “This young man says he’s your best friend. Do you remember having a best friend?”

Again, he shakes his head. He wants to remember, he really does, but nothing is coming to him. It’s like a wall has blocked his memories from being accessed.

“Can I be alone with him?”

The doctor nods and exits the room.

“We’ve been friends since Primary School,” he says and Dan cocks his head. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles and Shane gives him a look of sympathy. “You don’t have to apologise, it’s not your fault you don’t know who I am,” he says and Dan gives him a small smile.

“Since you say you’re my best friend, can you help me figure out other things about myself?” he asks and Shane nods. “Of course,” he says.

“It’d help if I knew your name,” Dan states.

“Oh, it’s Shane.”

Dan smiles. “ _Shane_ … hmm, it fits your face,” he says. Shane brings his hand to his face. “Really?” he asks and Dan nods. “Yep, you look like a Shane. I would have been very surprised if your name was something else,” he says.

Shane chuckles. He knows that this is Dan—his best friend—but he can’t joke around with him like he used to. He can’t do anything he used to, because although it’s the same Dan, this Dan doesn’t have his memories. Which is a good thing, sort of, as this Dan doesn’t remember what happened to him. He doesn’t remember nearly giving himself alcohol poisoning because of it.

And he doesn’t remember trying to end his own life.

Shane is grateful for that, because the trauma of knowing would be awful. If Dan knew why he was in the hospital, he’d try to get someone to tell him why he did it. He would go to Shane, and ask if he knew why. That was not something he wanted to tell. ‘ _Oh, you were sexually assaulted, and you tried to drink yourself to death.’_

What kind of best friend would he be if he told Dan that? An awful one, that’s what kind.

* * *

Shane realises that he’s quite good at persuasion when Phil agrees not to visit Dan.

“He’s only just woken up, and it’ll only freak him out if you go,” he says, not wanting to tell him that Dan doesn’t exactly know who he is.

“When will I be able to?”

Shane frowns. “In due time, I think. When everything settles down. In fact, I think he’s coming back to school Monday,” he says. When he found out that Dan would be returning, he immediately thought ‘ _No, he can’t. It’s too soon_ ’. Dan’s mum is very insistent that he finish off the last few weeks of school, even if there won’t be any work for him to do. His grades are decent, so as long as he attends school, he’ll graduate.

Dan’s exams, and the whole _Friend Project_ have been dismissed. And with Shane being the only person he actually knows, his classes have been switched around so they coincide.

“So, Monday?” Phil says and Shane groans. “Whatever. Just don’t be surprised when nothing goes how you’d like it to,” he says and Phil shrugs. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

And with that, he saunters off to class, the idea that everything will be just fine plastered to his brain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this and the next chapter are the only ones i have prewritten, so after that be prepared for a lack in the frequency of updates.


	12. xii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan begins his adjustment to life post-coma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter hurt me to write more than it should have. i have no experience WHATSOEVER with any type of amnesia (and my knowledge exists to whatever i’ve googled), so if i’ve gotten something wrong, i do apologise.

As I browse through the t-shirts in my drawers, I try to remember if I like any of the bands. Shane has given me t-shirts from his house which he says are mine, so I choose one of those to wear. It says _My Chemical Romance_ , I think. One of the letters is faded, so I’m unsure.

I slide it over my head, and the bottom sits just below the button on my black jeans. I must own all black jeans, because I don’t see any other color in the drawer.

I pull a pair of black shoes on my feet and get to my feet. Mum says I have to go to school. She also says that I’m not allowed to touch the bandages on my arms. I don’t know why, though.

There’s a knock on the door. Am I expecting anyone this early?

“Come in,” I say and the door opens to reveal Shane. “Oh, hey,” I say nonchalantly. “Hey. You ready?” he asks and I look down. “I guess?” I tell him and he gives me a weird look after looking at my hair. “Great, let’s go then.”

I follow him out of my bedroom and down the stairs. My mum gives me a small kiss on the cheek before I exit the house and get in the car.

“Is there anything I should know before we get there?” I ask. Shane nods. “Yeah. We used to not have all of the same classes, but now we do since I’m the only person you actually know,” he tells me and I frown. What if I used to have friends? Or even a boyfriend.

Yeah, even though I’ve lost basically all of my memories, I still know that I like boys. I think it’s the only memory I have left, other than the basic ones, like how to breathe and wear clothing that make sense.

Shane turns a knob on the stereo and the music that must have been playing gets louder. “This is Muse,” he explains. “They used to be your favorite band.”

I nod. “Really? I mean, judging by how I feel about this song–”

I look at the title, which is Sunburn. “–it’s completely plausible that they were.”

“Yeah, you were able to tel me the most random things about them, such as the lead singer’s birthday,” Shane says and I laugh. “Do I have a favorite album?”

“I believe it’s Origin of Symmetry,” he states. Well then, I’m learning more about myself by the second!

The car stops in the parking lot of a white-ish brick building. Before we get out, Shane turns to me with an unknown look in his eyes. “Listen, Dan—whatever happens in there, don’t freak out. Few people know that your memory’s gone—only the staff and myself know. People will try to start a conversation with you. They’ll try to hug you, even. Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle everything,” he says and I nod.

“Okay.”

* * *

Shane leads me past the doors and straight to the area with lockers. I look down at my feet as I walk, not wanting to see the reactions I’m possibly getting. Apparently I’ve been out of school for three weeks.

When we stop at a locker that’s probably mine, Shane twists the combination and opens the door. He looks through the binders until he finds the ones he needs, then closes the metal door. He hands them to me and we walk over a few until we stop at another one. He does what he did to mine and grabs a few things out, then we head straight to a classroom.

We walk in and someone—presumably the teacher—walks over to us. He introduces himself and I nod, then I’m led to a desk. I sit down and Shane sits next to me.

As more people file in they give me a strange, yet sympathetic looks.

“Don’t worry about them,” Shane whispers and I nod as one final person—a boy with black hair—enters the room. As he goes to smile at me, I watch Shane shake his head. The boy looks confused, then frowns and sits down next to him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to the boy. “What for? It’s not his fault,” the boy replies sadly.

“I would have told you, but I didn’t want you to be upset.”

“I suppose I still have hope that he’ll be back to normal. The doctor said he will if he doesn’t endure any stress.”

“Ich-wha eans-ma is-ha um-ma.”

I raise a brow at the conversation. Who is this boy, and why is Shane talking to him in some fucked-up Pig Latin?

I may have lost a majority—if not all—of my memory, but I’m not an idiot.

Still, what does my _mum_ have to do with my stress-level? She’s been nothing but lovely to me since I woke up.

Class soon begins and the two of them stop speaking. The teacher looks as if he wants to say something about me, or welcome me back, but says nothing.

Instead, someone else says something.

“Mr Kimble, shouldn’t Dan Howell be in an institution?”

I look at Shane and he shakes his head, mouthing, ‘don’t worry about it’.

Mr Kimble shakes his head. “No, Alyssa. Now hush up, and stay out of other people’s business,” he says. I look back at her. “O-Of course, Sir,” she stutters, her cheeks tinted pink.

Sir nods in approval, and begins to hand out worksheets. He hands two to Shane whilst handing everyone else a single sheet.

“For this, I’d like you working in groups of three or two. However, _I_ will be assigning the groups,” Kimble says, and nearly everyone groans.

After naming all of the groups off, he gets to the last one.

“Dan Howell, Shane Collins and Phil Lester.”

So _that’s_ the black-haired boy’s name. The sound of desks moving can be heard, so Phil (apparently) moves his desk so that it’s in between mine and Shane’s. He smiles sadly at me.

“So, Dan, I guess I should introduce you. This is Phil,” Shane says and I nod. “Nice to meet you—possibly again. Shane’s not told me anything about who I used to be friends with. Or who I was dating, or who I even had a crush on,” I say and I watch as Shane tenses up. Probably a harsh subject.

I laugh awkwardly. “It could’ve even been _you_ and I’d have no idea,” I say, directed at Phil.

For some reason, I feel as if I’m saying things I really shouldn’t be. Especially about the whole _crush_ thing. But it’s crazy, isn’t it? Me having a crush on Phil? He’s cute, but I don’t think he’s my type.

Hell, I don’t even know if I _have_ a type. For all I know, I could be attracted to guys who are covered in tattoos and piercings. The point is that I literally have no fucking idea.

Shane hands me my worksheet and I stare blankly at it. The fuck? Have I literally forgotten everything I’ve apparently learned?

“Um…” I say awkwardly. “If I had an analogy to describe what I feel like right now, I’d say that the part of my brain that knows this could easily belong to an infant.”

Why do I feel like such an idiot? I should know this. I don’t know it, and it’s frustrating.

“Dan, that’s why you don’t have to work on it alone,” Shane says and I scoff. “But I should _know_ it. I shouldn’t need _help_. And if you were really my best friend, you’d tell me why I can’t look under these bandages, and you’d tell me why I was in the hospital in the _first_ place,” I say, getting out of my seat and leaving the room. As I walk, I hear my footsteps roughly hitting the ground—an indication that I’m stomping.

But why? Why am I so _mad_?

Then I realise that I’m alone, 2hich means that no one can tell me that I cannot look under the bandages.

I walk into the bathroom and hide in the handicapped stall.

“Dan?”

Shit. It’s Shane.

I walk as quietly as possible towards the toilet and step beside it to where my feet can’t be seen if he looks under the doors. 

“I know you’re in here,” he says and I scoff. “Go away. You’re the _last_ person I want to speak to at the moment,” I tell him, removing the pin that’s keeping the bandage on my right arm secured.

“I know what you’re doing. You won’t like what you see.”

“You don’t know that. I deserve to know,” I tell him as I unwrap the bandage. “I _know_ you do. But it’ll cause you more stress,” he says.

I feel the color slowly draining from my face as I let the bandage fall to the floor. Somewhat fresh red marks are scattered across the inside of my arm. I can see white, but the prominent colors are pink and red. My hands shakes as I remove the other one and put my arms side-by-side. They’re nearly identical.

I feel sick.

Shane knocks on the door softly.

“It’s unlocked,” I say, my voice close to a whisper. He opens the door and I turn to face him as tears begin to fall. “I want to go home,” I tell him and he nods. “Alright, I’ll take you home.”

I wrap my arms around him and cry onto his shoulder.

Now I _definitely_ want to know why I was in the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now that the angsty stuff is somewhat out of the way (i say that because there’s another chapter w angst in the future) we can get to the slow and tiring second part.
> 
> in my notes i have an outline with what i want to happen exactly. part 2 is kinda fluffy with a small bit of angst, and i’m genuinely excited to write it. so yh. kudos and comments are greatly appreciated.


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